GIFT   OF 
MICHAEL  REESE 


u= 


The   Vaunt   of  Man 
and  other  poems 


Other  Books  by  William  Ellery  Leonard 

BYRON  AND  BYRONISM  IN  AMERICA,  Columbia  Uni 
versity  Press,  New  York.  A  study  in  literary  back 
grounds  before  the  Civil  War.  $1.06,  postpaid. 

THE  FRAGMENTS  OF  EMPEDOCLES,  Open  Court  Pub 
lishing  Co.,  Chicago.  A  translation  in  blank  verse 
with  introductory  study  and  explanatory  notes. 
$1.08,  postpaid. 

THE  POET  OF  GALILEE,  B.  W.  Huebsch,  New  York. 
An  examination  of  the  sayings  of  Jesus  from  the 
point  of  view  of  literary  criticism.  $1.08,  postpaid. 

THE  OREGON  TRAIL  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN,  edited 
with  introduction  and  notes.  Ginn  and  Co.,  Bos 
ton. 

GLORY  OF  THE  MORNING,  The  Wisconsin  Dramatic 
Society,  Madison.  A  one  act  Indian  play  in  poetic 
prose.  40  cents,  postpaid. 

IN  PREPARATION 

A  NEW  j?Esop,  The  Open  Court  Publishing  Co.,  Chi 
cago.  Fables,  adapted  and  original,  in  humorous 
verse. 

LUCRETIUS,  a  blank  verse  translation  of  the  entire  six 
books. 


The   Vaunt   of   Man 

and    other    poems 


William    Ellery   Leonard 


New  York 

B.   W.   Huebsch 

1912 


Copyright,  1912, 
B,  W.  Huebich 


Printed  in  U.  S.  A. 


THE  SUPERSCRIPTION 

White  soul,  too  white  for  us  who  work  with  clay, 
Sweet  mistress  of  the  gentle  flowers  and  birds. 
Harshly   compelled  to  speak  your  loving  words 
So  long  but  to  the  subtle  beasts  of  prey: 
I  was  your  earthly  husband  for  a  day, 
Too  strange  a  nature  for  an  eye  so  blue; 
And  yet  so  honest  was  my  love  to  you, 
I  gave  you  something  ere  you  went  away.  .  .  . 

I've  set  no  stone  upon  the  grave  out  there, 
Whither  in  all  my  years  I  shall  not  go; 
But,  conquering  pain,  and  pity,  and  despair, 
I  bind  these  leaves  with  solemn  hands  and  slow: 
My  poems  —  all  my  sacred  best  of  life  — 
Be  yours  forever,  O  my  wife,  my  wife! 


8  M^  f\  f«i    f\    r;> 
72^0'* 


The  Heavens  and  the  Earth, 
and  all  that  is  between  them, 
think  ye  we  have  created  them 
in  jest! 

—  The  Koran. 

Se  tu  segui  tua  Stella, 
Non    puoi    fallirc    al     glorioso 
porto. 

—  Dante. 


PREFACE 

These  rhymes  record,  by  quite  unconscious  plan, 
What  life   from  year  to  year  may  mean   to  man. 
Scarce  one  but  had  its  rise  in  common-place, 
In  old   experience  of  the  human   race  — 
And  yet  not  one  without  some  How  or  When 
No  man  on  earth  can  ever  feel  again. 
I  made  the  record  that  I  might  be  free 
Through  mastering  art,  lest  life  should  master  me- 
Finding  in  art,  creating  as  I  went, 
A  world  more  luminous  and  eloquent. 

W.  E.  L. 

Madison,  Wisconsin, 
Mid-summer,  1911. 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 

For  permission  to  reprint  a  num 
ber  of  the  poems  thanks  are  due  to 
the  Atlantic  Monthly,  the  Cen 
tury,  the  Forum,  etc.  For  much 
inspiration  in  the  writing  and  help 
in  preparation  for  the  press  I  am 
indebted  to  Ludwig  Lewisohn. 


Contents 

Page 

I.     Love  that  Won 

The  Vaunt  of  Man 17 

Alone  You  Passed 20 

O  Loved  and  Lovely 21 

One  Woman 22 

When  Came  the  Moment   ...  23 

To  the  Evening  Star     ....  24 

II.     Under  the  Sky 

The  Windward  Slope     ....  27 

Anti-rococo 28 

For  a  Decadent 29 

Rain 30 

Natura  Magna 31 

For  Husbandmen 32 

For  Our  Fathers'  Sons   ....  33 

The  Great  Stone  Face   ....  34 

Mount  Washington   .      .      .      .      .  35 

For  a  Forest  Walker     ....  36 

A  Tryst 37 

With    Mother    Earth     ....  38 
Behind  the  Old  House  .      .      .      .39 

Games 40 

The  Wildman      ......  41 

Primordial    Earth      .     :.     ;.     .     .  42 

The  Ancient  Mariner     «    ,..     .     .  46 

The  Steamer  .      .     .     .     .     .     .47 

Coastwise .  48 


Contents 


The  Wreck Pa4g9e 

The  Express 50 

Ultima  Thule 51 

Prayer  to  the  Man-bird   .                  .  53 

Upland    Lights 55 

The  Ruined   House 57 

To   an   Elf 58 

The  Scarlet  Skater 59 

The  Scholar's  Return     .  61 


III.     The  Issues  of  Life 

Out  From  God's  House  ....  65 

A  Psalm  of  the  Prayerless    ...  66 

Epilogue 67 

The  Rose 68 

Pain  and  Speech 69 

The  Law  With  Life  for  Gloss  .      .  70 

Compensation 71 

Threefold    Life 72 

Wanderers 73 

Fragment •  74 

Love  Afar -75 

II  Ben  dell*  Intelletto     ....  76 

When  Death  Shall  Come     ...  77 

Success .      .  78 

Xcu'pc  $<5s!      t.     ••      .      .:     :.,    ....     ..  79 

Obscurity 80 

The  Law  Prevails     ....  81 


Contents 

Page 

For  a  School  of  Artists  ....  82 

To  the  Victor 83 

The  Vagabond 84 

Mens  Immortalis 85 

The  Poet  in  the  City 86 

Vigil 87 

For  a  Drudger 88 

With   the  Age 89 

The  Muse 90 

The  World  and  the  Soul     ...  91 

The  Good  Cause 92 

Not  an  Academician 93 

The  Phantom   Skater       ....  94 
I    Feel    Me    Near    to    Some    High 

Thing 95 

The  Test 96 

The  Crisis       ; 97 

Prayer  in  the  House  of  Pain  ...  98 

IV.     Love  that  Lost 

The  Bitterest  Hour 101 

The  Jester 102 

A  Voyage 105 

Archilochus 106 

The  Drachenfels  ......  107 

The  Image  of  Delight    .      .      .      .108 

Postscript 109 

Resolve                                              ,  no 


Contents 

Page 

V.     Men  of  High  Report 

Lincoln 115 

Kaiser  Wilhelm  in   Bonn      .      .      .121 

Edgar  Allan  Poe 122 

Walt  Whitman 123 

VI.     America 

Remarks 127 

Israel 128 

Inauguration  Ode 129 

VII.     Five  Cities 

The  Aery  City 135 

Venice  in  Rain 136 

The  White  Metropolis   .      .      .      .137 
New  York  in  Sunset       .      .      .      .138 

Urbs  Triumphans 139 

VIII.    The  Unjust  .  .  . 

Prefatory 145 

Mein  Tischgenosse 146 

The  Editor 147 

A  Hypocrite 148 

In  College  Days 149 

The  Insulting  Letter 150 

My  Defence 151 

The  Laird  of  Leith 152 

Epilogue 153 


Contents 

Page 

IX.     ...  and  the  Just 

A  Dedication 157 

With  Some  Manuscript  Poems  .      .158 

The  Sculptor 159 

A  Presentation 160 

In  Reply 161 

Invitation 162 

Lady,  Not  Mine 164 

The  Phantom  Child 165 

New  York  Days 167 

To  Friends 171 

In  Memoriam 172 

X.    Translation  and  Paraphrase 

The  Creation  of  the  Morrow     .      .175 
Heraclitus,  the  Obscure  .      .      .      .176 

Achilles  and  Athene 180 

A  Home-coming  Long  Ago  .      .      .181 
A  Roman    Pleasantry      .     .     ;.     .182 

The  Sail 183 

Buddha      .    - .   184 

Choice 185 

The  Ideal .   186 

Rondeau     .      .      .     .      .      .      .      .    187 

Mignon .      .   188 

XI.    Midway  Upon  the  Road 

Midway  Upon  the  Road  .      .      .      .191 
For  the  New  Year 192 


The  Vaunt  of  Man 
I. 

WHEN  I  shall  make  my  vaunt  before  the  Lord, 
I  shall  not  name  my  thrift  of  knowledge  won: 
The  winged  urns  unearthed  in  Babylon, 
The  Greek  palimpsest  wondrously  restored, 
Nor  what  of  rock  or  plant  in  field  and  fiord 
I  brought  from  where  the  Scandian  rivers  run, 
Nor  my  Uranian  lore  of  moon  and  sun, 
Nor  deep-sea  soundings  with  the  lead  and  cord. 

But  I  shall  boast  my  cunning  in  Romance: 

How,  Heart-of- Woman,  along  a  trail  in  Ind 

I  met  thee  footsore  on  thine  ancient  quest 

And  knew  thy  need  with  manhood's  swiftest  glance  — 

Thy  solemn  grief  so  long  unmedicined, 

The  wound  thy  hand  was  hiding  in  thy  breast. 

II. 

Nor  when  I  speak  my  boast  before  the  King, 
Shall  I  proclaim  my  deeds  of  song  and  sight, 
My  rainbow  visions  conjured  out  of  night, 
My  island  cities  with  ships  of  hope  a-wing 
Out  in  the  oceans  of  imagining, 
Nor  forest  hymns  upon  my  mountain  height, 
Nor  the  loud  paeans  to  the  morning  light 
In  rolling  meters  of  my  sea  singing. 

[17] 


The  Vaunt  of  Man 

But  I  shall  boast  how  once,  O  Child  of  Earth, 

Whilst  thou  wert  weeping  in  the  desert  South, 

I,  passing  that  way  with  flowers  and  wine  and  bread, 

Restored   for  immortality  the  mirth 

Of  those  blue  eyes  and  kissed  thee  on  the  mouth 

With  sudden  hands,  of  >j$y  upon  thy  head. 

III. 

0  when  I  make  my  plea  before  our  God, 

1  shall  not  boast  my  sufferance  and  pain, 

The  whirlwind  snt>ws  that  blinded  on  the  plain, 
The  smoke  I  breathed,  the  lava  fields  I  trod, 
With  head  unhood«d  and  burning  feet  unshod, 
Nor  fettered  hours  in  Houses  of  Disdain 
With  anarch  Ignorance  and  Custom  Vain, 
Nor  strength  achieved  by  bowing  to  the  rod. 

But  I  shall  boast,  O  Bride  forever  tfright, 
Forever  young  (with  blossoms  from  the  glade, 
The  hill,  the  lake  I  crown  thee  mistress  of), 
Delight,  delight  and  evermore  delight, 
The  hearth   I  kindled  and  the  boat  I  made, 
And  quiet  years  as  minister  of  love. 

IV. 

So  when  I  make  my  boast  before  the  Throne, 
I  shall  not  mention  what  was  mine  of  praise, 
[18] 


The  Vaunt  of  Man 

The  silver  cup  for  swiftness  in  the  race, 

Nor  bossed  medals  stamped  with  name  mine  own 

For  Turk  or  Tartar  in  Palaestra  thrown, 

Nor  bells  that  pealed  my  battles  in  old  days, 

Graved  scrolls  with  civic  seals,  nor  public  bays 

For  the  deep  thoughts  I  carved  in  bronze  and  stone. 

But  I  shall  name,  O  lyric  Life,  thy  name; 
Show  the  proud  tokens,  the  ring,  the  odorous  hair, 
Love's  fiery  print  upon  my  lips  and  eyes; 
And  strip  my  bosom  as  'twere  a  thing  of  fame, 
And  say,  "  This  glorious  Lady  slumbered  there, 
And  made  these  arms  her  earthly  Paradise." 


[19] 


Alone  You  Passed 

ALONE  you  passed  beyond  the  Golden  Gate, 
Toward  the  red  Hesperus  o'er  the  western  seas 
To  broad-browed  idols  of  the  Japanese  — 
But  their  grim  lips  were  silent  where  they  sate; 
Alone  I  sailed  earth's  other  path  of  fate, 
Out  toward   the   morning  star  where   Egypt   is, 
Where  the  Sphinx  guards  her  bleak  eternities  — 
But  I  returned,  like  you,  forlorn  and  late; 

Then  wandering  inland  from  each  divided  coast 
Across  the  multitudinous  continent, 
Strangers  by  hill  and  stream  without  an  aim, 
We  met  even  in  the  hour  we  doubted  most, 
And  each  in  each  achieved  the  great  Event  — 
The  oracle,  the  sacrificial  flame. 


[20] 


O  Loved  and  Lovely 

O  LOVED  and  lovely  on  the  mountain  crest, 
O  auburn  hair  the  clouds  are  shining  on, 
White  arms  uplifted  to  the  setting  sun, 
Prophetic  eyes  that  see  beyond  the  west, 
O  whispering  voice,  my  tumult  and  my  rest, 
Star  of  the  twilight  next  that  burning  one, 
Which  yonder  in  heaven  holds  bright  dominion, 
Through  song  of  mine  shalt  thou  be  manifest !  — 

For  from  my  wings  thy  fire  hath  purged  the  pain, 

For  on  my  eyes  thy  light  hath  poured  the  light, 

And  on  my  mouth  is  thine  immortal  kiss; 

Nor  can  thy  presence  be  bestowed  in  vain 

On  me,  the  Lyrist's  eager  acolyte, 

That  long  hath  prayed  for  such  a  task  as  this. 


[21] 


One  Woman 

SO  incomplete,  you  cry? 
Your  service  incomplete?  — 
O  could  you  mark,  when  you  are  passing  by, 
How  many  watch  your  feet. 

Of  no  account,  you  say? 

Your  life  of  narrow  scope?  — 

O  could  you  know,  when  you  but  kneel  to  pray, 

How  many  dare  to  hope. 

No  center  to  your  soul? 

No  force  worth  while?  — 

O  could  you  guess  how  beautiful  and  whole 

May  be  a  woman's  smile. 

God  has,  in  plenty,  steel 

Tempered    for   war's   employ  — 

But  needs  the  most  for  his  great  commonweal 

The  rose  of  peace  and  joy. 


[22] 


When  Came  the  Moment 

WHEN  came  the  moment  of  your  life  to  me, 
After  my  evil  years,  I  said :     "  At  last 
Is  service,  peace,  and  splendor;  I  am  saved 
In  saving  her."     The  times  of  summer  flowers 
On  hills  beyond  the  city,  and  of  stars 
By  twilights  on  the  memorable  lake, 
The  winter's  reading,  and  the  helpfulness 
In  mutual  old  simplicities  of  life, 
Were  ours  by  seasons,  were  they  not  ?  —  And  still 
We  were  two  lovers  to  the  end,  despite 
The  alien  sounds  forever  on  the  stair, 
And  older  sorrows  of  a  shadowy  house 
To  which  a  solemn  duty  bound  us  both.  .  .  . 
Two  lovers  to  the  end  .      .  the  awful  end.  , 


[23] 


To  the  Evening  Star 

WHITE  star,  beyond  the  houses  and  the  hills, 
That  beaconest  a  solemn  all-is-well 
Across  the  twilight  to  the  fates  of  men, 
From  out  the  seeming  Distance;  lonely  star, 
Companioning  our  uncompanioned  griefs, 
Till  surges  something  of  thy  holy  light, 
Some  still  suffusion  of  immortality, 
Through  the  hushed  soul,  and  time  and  space  no  more, 
And  the  divisions  of  the  grave  no  more 
Convince  us  into  martyrdom:     O  star, 
Keep,  keep  the  child  with  thec  until  I  come.  .  .  . 


[24] 


II.    Under  the  Sky 


The  Windward  Slope 

COME!  —  let  us  live  upon  the  windward  slope! 
Come !  —  let  us  look,  magnanimous  and  free ! 
Come!  —  where  the  sunshine  gilds  eternity! 
Come! — where  the  lightning  has  primeval  scope! 
Come  from  the  caverns  of  your  sordid  hope, 
Your  meager  thought,  ye  pallid  folk,  with  me! 
Come !  —  where  the  mountains  neighbor  on  the  sea 
And  wild  sea-twilight  fronts  the  windward  slope! 

There  the  four  regions  of  primordial  heaven! 
There  the  four  elements  and  planets  seven !  — 
And  the  cool  torrents  of  essential  air, 
And  the  swift  spark  and  luminous  breath  of  fire, 
And  odorous  earth  and  lucid  water  there 
Feed  blood  and  bone  and  spirit  and  desire! 


07] 


Anti-rococo 

I  WOULD  make  mention  of  primeval  things, 
Oceans,  horizons,  rains,  and  winds  that  bear 
Moist  seeds  from  isle  to  isle,  caves,  mountain  air 
And  echoes,  clouds  and  shadows  of  their  wings 
On  lakes  or  hillsides,  autumns  after  springs 
In  starlight,  sleep  and  breathing  and  the  blare 
Of  life's  reveille,  love,  birth,  death  and  care 
Of  sunken  graves  of  peasants  as  of  kings, 

The  wide  world  over, — 

O  be  bold,  be  free! 

Strip  off  this  perfumed  fabric  from  your  verse, 
Tear  from  your  windows  all  the  silk  and  lace!  — 
And  stand,  man,  woman,  on  the  slope  by  me, 
O  once  again  before  the  universe, 
O  once  again  with  Nature  face  to  face! 


[28] 


For  a  Decadent 

LIVE  out  in  air!     Drink  the  swift  life  of  winds, 
Warm   o'er   the  summer  fields  and   sweet  with 

flowers, 

And  buoyant  with  the  salts  of  primal  earth, 
Or  cold  and  vital  over  starry  snows. 
Live  in  the  sun !  and  far  from  evil  men, 
To  the  great  sun  bare  breast  and  throat  and  thigh, 
And  hail  at  morn  with  naked  upstretched  arms 
The  promise  of  the  wide  day  and  the  sun ! 

Thus,  plenished  with  an  ancient  strength,  shalt  thou 
Leap  from  the  rocks  and  swim  the  sea  and  reach 
The  island  caves  and  bind  the  mermaid's  hair ; 
Or  push  through  brake  and  briar  up  the  cliffs 
Out  over  all  the  mountain  gulfs  of  pine, 
And  stand  with  summit  gods,  primevally! 


[29] 


Rain 

WHO  loves  the  sun  and  stars  shall  love  the  rain; 
Who  walks  the  mountain  with  the  golden  cloud 
Shall  cringe  not  at  the  mountain  thunder,  loud 
Beyond  the  lightning  and  the  hurricane. 
Who  swims  the  blue  cove  shall  abide  the  main 
When  black  with  storms,  still  buoyant  and  uncowed; 
Who  feels  earth's  light  about  him  as  a  shroud, 
Shall  feel  earth's  vast,  earth's  elemental  rain. 

O  love  ye  not  the  forest,  bird,  and  flower, 
And  shadowy  shapes  of  sunlight  down  the  glen, 
And  moonbeams  scattered  in  the  midnight  wood? 
O  wait !     O  listen !     Earth's  revolving  hour 
Brings  ye  anon  the  forest  rain  again 
And  dusk  and  music  of  her  ancient  mood ! 


[30] 


Natura  Magna 

GAZE  not  at  hearth-flame  nor  at  funeral  pyre 
Too  long  in  dreams  or  tears ;  but  rise  and  bare 
Your  souls  to  lightning;  see  the  mountain  flare 
Forth  its  wild  torrents  of  essential  fire! 
Sit  not  too  long  by  well-springs  of  desire 
In  shadowy  woodlands  with  the  white  nymphs ;  fare 
Out  to  blue  ocean  and  the  sun-bright  air !  — 
Hark !  the  deep  voice :  "  Exult  ye,  and  aspire ! 

"  As  some  god's  festival  on  holy  ground 
Ye  shall  approach  my  universe  afar, 
Naked  and  swift  as  heroes,  from  all  climes; 
Thus  ye  shall  fill  an  epos  with  new  sound, 
Thus  ye  shall  yield  new  names  for  many  a  star, 
And  thus  from  ye  shall  date  the  aftertimes." 


[31] 


For  Husbandmen 

(On  the  Coast.) 

NO  more  shall  thunder  and  the  lightning's  bane 
Darken  and  terrify  the  populous  lea  — 
The  afternoon  comes  buoyant  from  the  sea, 
Like  a  fresh  dawn  across  an  upland  plain! 
The  shadows  sweep  the  purple  hills  again; 
At  mountain  distance  rides  the  rainbow  free; 
There  is  a  whisper  as  of  days  to  be, 
And  earth's  new  odor  rises  after  rain 

In  golden  steam. — 

O  husbandmen,  go  forth! 

Primeval,  wise,  shag-browed  and  large  of  hand, 
Ye  workers  still  beneath  the  law  of  old !  — 
The  utmost  cities  of  the  South  and  North 
Await  their  health  of  ye ;  and  all  the  land 
Against  late  years  for  ye  puts  by  its  gold. 


[32] 


For  Our  Fathers'  Sons 

WE  must  be  heroes !     Earth's  old  rivers  flow 
But  earth's  religions  comfort  us  no  more, 
And  the  old  faith  that  looked  so  far  of  yore, 
Lies,  with  all  temples,  bare  to  wind  and  snow; 
But  standing  at  our  fathers'  graves  we  know 
(And  this  is  much)  that,  spite  of  waste  and  war, 
'Twere  to  deny  our  being  to  give  o'er: 
We  shall  be  heroes !     And  for  strength  we  go 

(Will  ye  not  go?)  out  to  the  mountains!  —  Still, 
Though  we  have  glossed  anew  the  psalmist's  verse, 
Our  help  shall  come  from  out  the  ancient  hill, 
And  we  shall  promise  largely  and  fulfill, 
Feeling,  as  heroes,  our  unconquered  will, 
Part  of  the  epic  of  the  universe! 


[33] 


The  Great  Stone  Face 

PRIMEVAL  Presence,  enthroned  upon  white  space, 
Who  feel'st  the  lightnings  wither  on  thy  cheek, 
Whose  iron  lips  to  cloud  and  thunder  speak, 
While  slumbering  aeons  crowd  thy  shadowy  base ; 
Who  seest  far  city,  stream,  and  planted  place 
And  the  blue  sunlight  on  the  hundredth  peak  — 
Inexorable,  calm,  abiding,  bleak  — 
Hail!  genius  of  the  mountains,  awful  face. 

Hail  and  farewell!     My  spirit  faints,  and  soft 
The  winds  blow  inland  from  eternity; 
Thee  'twere  not  well  revisiting  too  oft 
If  I  would  bind  the  sheaves  allotted  me  — 
Thee,  nor  the  everlasting  stars  aloft, 
Nor  reaches  of  the  irrevocable  sea. 


[34] 


Mount  Washington 

T  SAID:  "  This  morn  I  will  the  vision  seek;'* 
•*•  So  in  the  sheer  car  up  the  mount  I  spun 
O'er  pines  and  shag  ravines,  and  stepped  anon 
High  on  the  iron  summit,  piled  and  bleak. 
Here  shone  the  white  eternity!  here  peak 
To  peak  his  huge  design  rolled  on  and  on  — 
Grand  as  the  thunder,  silent  as  the  sun !  — 
Till  histories,  arts,  religions,  man  were  weak. 

But  ah,  I  lost  the  thrill,  the  joy,  the  fear  ; 
And  from  a  crag  I  murmured :  "  Soul  can  know 
The  kingdoms  of  the  larger  atmosphere 
Only  when  soul  toils  from  the  place  below  — 
O  wrould  my  feet  were  torn  with  flint  and  brere, 
Or  still  were  wandering  where  the  lilies  grow." 


[35] 


For  a  Forest  Walker 

(In  Franconia.) 

OUAFF  the  mid-forest  spring!     Sink  palms  and 
knees 

In  the  deep  moss  and  let  the  big  rank  ferns 
Strike  on  the  flushed  cheek  and  the  fevered  neck, 
And  let  thy  hair,  warmed  in  those  sultry  shades, 
Float,  with  the  oozy  twigs  and  yellow  leaves, 
The  near  black  water !     O  with  pursed  lips 
Quaff  till  thou  feelst  it  cool  in  heart  and  frame  — 
Then  up  through  pines  and  thickets  to  the  light! 

Yonder  the  valley  and  the  mountain  lake! 
The  sunset  clouds  are  trembling  in  the  waves, 
The  wild  deer  drink  among  the  windy  rocks; 
And  thou  shalt  call  for  joy  aloud,  and  hear 
A  mountain  echo  that  will  die  away 
Seven  times  repeated  on  the  crimson  air! 


[36] 


A  Tryst 

AFTER  the  evil  years,  so  long  alone  — 
Thou  in  dusk  chambers  by  the  sullen  wave, 
I  at  the  foothills  in  a  shadowy  cave  — 
O  sister  —  spirit,  we  are  free!     Our  own 
Here  in  wild  twilight  is  the  trysting  stone, 
Here  on  the  slope,  which  high  winds  lash  and  lave, 
As  seas  a  promontory.     O  be  brave, 
And  range  the  starry  night  from  zone  to  zone 

With  me,  my  sister ! 

Hesperus  is  before  us! 

Behind  the  mount,  unseen  our  sorrows  sleep! 
Anon  the  constellations  tower  o'er  us: 
Great  Nature,  in  primeval  mood  and  deep, 
Restores  our  love,  even  as  she  will  restore  us 
Our  light  —  exultant  on  her  mountain  steep! 


[37] 


With  Mother  Earth 

>/"T"*IS  well  to  spend  a  lucid  afternoon 

•*>      In  the  long  silvery  grass,  with  upturned  eye 
Noting  the  leaves  that  fret  the  azure  sky ; 

'Tis  well  to  wait  the  coming  of  the  moon, 
Out  on  the  hillside,  over  fields  of  June. 

'Tis  well  to  listen,  when  abed  we  lie, 
To  midnight  murmurs  of  the  rain  and  try 
To  mark  therein  the  world's  primeval  tune. 

'Tis  well  to  know,  that  (spite  of  death  and  dearth 

And  evil  men  in  cities  plotting  ill 

And  friends  that  leave  us  when  our  thoughts  are  new) 

The  good  man  may  abide  with  Mother  Earth 
And  dream  his  dreams  and  have  his  visions  still 
And  trust  the  Infinite  to  see  him  through. 


[38] 


Behind  the  Old  House 

(Among  the  Hills.) 

BEHIND  the  old  house  beds  of  lettuce  grow; 
The  winds  across  the  dancing  red-top  blow ; 
The  brook  is  bright  with  blue  forget-me-nots 
As  when  we  gathered  long,  long  years  ago. 

Behind  the  old  house  on  a  trellis  nod 
The  sweetpease   (purple  o'er  the  goldenrod), 
Whose  incense,  like  an  unseen  beauty,  fills 
The  upland  morning  and  the  fields  of  God. 

Behind  the  old  house,  down  the  narrow  lane, 
After  long  years  the  mountain  sun  again ! 
After  long  years  the  wide  primeval  dawn, 
Gold  o'er  the  white  mists  of  the  midland  plain! 

And  how  those  years  of  sorrow  glorify 

The  fresh,  free,  olden  things  of  earth  and  sky! 


[39] 


Games 

A  BOY  I  mastered  exercise  and  game: 
I  threw  the  discus,  and  I  drove  the  ball; 
I  ran  the  course,  I  cleared  the  hurdles  all; 
At  boxing  swift  in  parry,  lunge,  and  aim; 
A  wrestler,  fencer,  turner;  with  a  frame 
To  skate  in  moonlight  down  the  river  where, 
On  summer  noondays,  diving  bronze  and  bare, 
I  swam  the  bend  for  joy  and  not  for  fame. 

And  these,  with  mastery  of  plane  and  saw, 
Judged  as  traditions  of  wise  years  behind, 
No  less  than  legend,  language,  art,  and  law  — 
I  mean  as  wisdom  of  our  human  kind  — 
I  hold,  with  something  of  historic  awe, 
Among  the  assets  of  a  noble  mind. 


[40] 


The  Wildman 

BUT  still  the  wildman  calls  the  tameless  boy; 
Primeval  instincts  of  the  cave  and  tree, 
The  summons  of  the  years  that  used  to  be, 
Ages  before  Achilles  fought  at  Troy, 
Calls  him  abroad  to  his  ancestral  joy 
With  spear  and  belt  and  arrow ;  and  he  stands 
Out  on  the  rocks,  and  peers  with  lifted  hands 
For  wolf  to  flee  or  wigwam  to  destroy. 

Thus,  when  I  mark  in  our  museums  a  lance, 

A  feathered  stick,  a  twisted  curio, 

I  think  with  pride  in  my  omnipotence: 

"  I  made  these  things  ten  thousand  years  ago, 

Where  the  sun  set  on  plains  that  now  are  France, 

Upon  my  ways  from  Pyrenees  to  Po." 


[41] 


Primordial  Earth 
I. 

I   SEE  that  only  ocean  isle  forlorn, 
First  shape,  except  the  massy  cloud  at  noon, 
Or  rolling  wave  against  the  rim  of  morn, 
To  cast  a  bulk  of  shadow.     Gull  nor  loon 
Clings  to  its  riven  cliff  and  scarped  wall, 
Nor  splashing  wrack  of  tangled  kelp :  the  sea, 
Mother  of  life  to  all, 
Not  yet  will  yield  of  her  fecundity, 
Even  as  her  breath 

Hath  yet  no  odor  of  salt  nor  eery  voice  of  death. 
But  ineradicably  strong, 
That  Island,  first  of  islands  in  all  zones, 
Divideth  the  immeasurable  main; 
The  whirling  cones 
Of  writhen  water  columns,  far  along 
The  highways  of  the  lightning,  strike  in  vain. 
And  under  thunderheads  of  dying  storm, 
It  standeth  bulwarked,  bleak,  deform, 
In  ocean  glow  of  setting  sun 
Or  midnight  silver  of  the  gibbous  moon  — 
The  dry  land  hath  begun ; 
The  rest  shall  follow  late  or  soon. 


[42] 


Primordial  Earth 

II. 

I  see  the  elder  swamps  of  time; 

The  Reptiles  fold  the  air  beneath  their  wings 

Athwart  the  sky,  or  drop  into  the  slime 

With  slapping  fin  and  tumbling  back. 

One  dives,  and,  crossing  through  the  water  rings, 

A  zigzag  line  of  bubbles  lets  me  track 

His  sullen,  deep  meanderings; 

One  wallows  up  the  oozy  shore, 

Crunching  a  speckled  eel ;  one  with  a  claw 

Tears  open  the  fiery  bulb  of  some  vast  flower; 

One  licks  the  poison-pith  with  tongue  and  jaw 

From  a  rent  stalk  of  fern, 

And  with  a  lurch  and  turn, 

Bulges  a  green  round  eye  at  me. 

And  through  the  sultry  fogs  and  noxious  fumes 

The  sun's  blurred  outline  somewhere  looms, 

Nor  doth  it  yet  appear  what  is  to  be. 

III. 

Down  a  long  wood  I  peer  — 

There  is  the  Simian  band. 

Some  swing  by  clasping  tail  and  reaching  hand 

Among  the  trees, 

With  chatter  and  quick  yelp. 

Some  scurry  along  on  toes  and  knuckles  or  rear 

Abrupt.     One  flings,  with  labored  grunt  and  wheeze, 

[43] 


Primordial  Earth 

A  thigh-bone  at  a  fleeing  whelp. 

One  squatting  near  a  fungus  madly  scratches 

A  beetle  from  his  arm-pit,  muttering. 

Hardby,  upon  the  mossy  patches, 

Half  stretched,  half  curled, 

One  sleeps  and  makes  of  sleep  a  hideous  thing. 

Who  will  unriddle  why  I  laugh  at  this? 

Or  why,  across  the  infinite  abyss, 

The  white  stars  beacon  the  insensate  world? 

IV. 

I  see  a  ledge  along  a  mountain  side, 

The  platform  of  a  cavern  dwelling  place; 

And  one  comes  out  who  has  a  bearded  face, 

A  pelt  on  thigh,  a  club  in  fist, 

And  stripes  of  ochre  round  his  arm  and  wrist, 

With  curious  artistry  applied. 

And  now  he  piles  the  leaves  and  bark, 

And  plies  a  stick  and  rubs  a  spark, 

And  blows  upon  the  smolder; 

Then    stands,    while    mounts    the    smoke    above    his 

shoulder, 

And  gazes  down  the  valley  in  the  wide 
Dawn  of  this  autumn  of  the  old  stone  age 
At  the  sun  rising  out  along  the  mist, 
And,  like  a  sovereign  priest  or  mage, 
Calls  from  beside  the  sacrificial  flame 
On  the  great  sun  by  name. 

[44] 


Primordial  Earth 

V. 

And  in  that  lifted  face, 

Wherein  I  still  may  trace 

In  less  the  dusky  forms  uncouth  and  grim 

Of  antique  nature's  seeming  whim  — 

The  crag,  the  bulb,  the  saurian,  the  ape  — 

I  see  the  Olympians  taking  shape: 

The  brow  of  Zeus  who  gives  commands, 

Poseidon  who  is  lord  of  ships, 

Ares  who  arms  the  walls  for  war, 

Apollo  with  the  singing  lips, 

And  Dionysos,  looser  of  the  lands 

By  city,  stream,  or  shore. 

And  the  vast  issues  of  a  coming  race 

Crowd  half  their  portent  in  that  savage  face. 


[45] 


The  Ancient  Mariner 

AGES  ago  I  ranged  the  outer  seas, 
The  shimmering  main  that  moves  below  the  moon, 
The  shoreless  waters  of  the  vaulted  noon, 
The  drizzling  oceans  winter  could  not  freeze ; 
With  halyards  twisted  by  the  Genoese, 
And  sails  of  linen  from  the  docks  of  Tyre, 
I  bounded  onward :  for  the  western  fire 
Beaconed  between  the  Gates  of  Hercules. 

While  yesterday,  with  hundred  flags  unfurled 

By  all  the  nations,  dwelling  either  side, 

I  swept  from  Azores  round  the  Horn  to  Spain, 

And  left  behind  me,  circling  all  the  world, 

As  aery  offspring  of  my  speed  and  pride, 

The  long  smoke  winnowed  by  the  sun  and  rain. 


The  Steamer 

THE  steamer  plows  the  middle  sea 
With  smoke  behind  and  foam  before; 
And  through  whatever  nights  there  be 
She  anchors  not  from  shore  to  shore : 

Though  head  winds  smite  her  onward  form, 
And  waves  from  east  to  west  be  hurled, 
Though  ocean  stars  be  hid  in  storm 
Beyond  the  glimpses  of  the  world, 

Her  needle  tells  the  unseen  path, 
Eternal  law  to  her  desire; 
And  her  unconquered  speed  she  hath 
In  quenchless  heart  of  flame  and  fire. 


[47] 


Coastwise 

(North  Shore.) 

ALL  night,  fog-bound  in  murky  seas  we  rode 
Off  perilous  capes  and  nameless  coasts  of  dread, 
Our  vague  lights  seeking,  like  dim  ghosts  in  red, 
The  pallid  regions  round  our  dusk  abode; 
The  moonless  tides  beneath  us  ebbed  and  flowed ; 
And  unseen  ships  that  bolder  steered  ahead 
Shrieked  weird  and  far,  like  voices  of  the  dead, 
And  all  night  long  we  answered  where  we  rode. 

But  with  the  morn  the  sun  came  vast  and  round, 
And  winds  came  golden  o'er  the  wide  blue  sea, 
And,  weighing  anchor  in  a  world  of  light, 
We  scudded  down  the  main  and  made  the  sound 
And  marked  the  port,  our  city  of  the  free, 
Low  on  the  purple  sky,  secure  and  bright. 


[48] 


The  Wreck 

I  KNOW  where  clings  among  the  rocks  and  kelp, 
And  shelvy  sands  that  boil  at  ebbing  tide, 
Far  from  the  folk  on  whom  she  called  for  help, 
Far  from  the  fog-swept  lighthouse  yellow-eyed, 
A  battered  steamer  on  her  iron  side, 
With  stacks  inclining  to  the  setting  sun, 
Like  rusty  cannon  whose  last  booming  died 
On  some  abandoned  fortress:  she  is  one 
With  all  on  land  or  sea  whose  mighty  works  are  done. 


[49] 


The  Express 

SHE  comes!     I  hear  her  whistle  mount  the  air 
High  o'er  the  howling  storm,  and  down  the  black 
Gulf  of  the  station,  where  the  level  track 
Shoots  into  night,  I  see  her  headlight  flare! 
The  swaying  bell  rings  out  its  wild  beware, 
The  long,  low  smoke  is  trailing  from  her  stack, 
The  chill  draught  strikes  —  the  crowd  is  pressing  back, 
She  comes,  she  stops  —  how  terrible  and  fair! 

Would  mine  her  swift  night  in  the  windy  gorge, 
O'er  trestles  shaken  with  a  mountain  roar, 
O'er  snow-swept  plain,  by  factory  and  forge, 
By  lights  of  cities  on  the  inland  shore, 
And  island  beacons !  —  O  would  mine  her  hour 
Of  large  experience  and  splendid  power! 


[50] 


Ultima  Thule 

(For  Commander  Peary.) 

IT  was  not  for  the  Arctic  gold  and  a  claim  at  the  end 
of  the  great  white  trail ; 
Nor  yet  for  the  Arctic  lore  —  for  a  map  of  the  floe 

and  a  graph  of  the  gale: 
But  the  quest  came  out  of  a  primitive  urge  in  the 

blood  of  our  common  birth  — 

The  lure  of  the  last  lone  verge  and  the  desert  end  of 
the  rolling  earth. 

For  this  he  abandoned  the  green  of  the  world  —  the 

lakes  and  the  hills  and  the  leas, 
And  rivers  of  midsummer  nations,  and  banks  with  the 

corn  and  the  vine  and  the  trees, 
And  the  genial  zones  of  the  planet's  rains,  and  the  belt 

of  the  planet's  flowers; 
For  this  he  abandoned   all  cities  —  their  households, 

their  singing  and  sunsets  and  towers. 

Onward,  north  of  the  Northern  Lights,  hungry  and 

cold  and  alone, 
Eternity  under  his  frozen  feet  and  the  snows  of  the 

ages  unknown, 
With  never  the  boom  of  the  purple  seas,  nor  ever  a 

mountain  of  fire, 
North  of  the  Plain  of  the  thousand  slain  —  who  were 

dead  of  the  same  desire !  — 

[Si] 


Ultima  Thule 

Till  the  East  and  West  were  lost  in  the  South,  and  the 

North  was  no  more,  and  he  stood 
Face  to  face  with  the  ancient  dream  through  his  hope 

and  his  hardihood; 
And  the  alien  skies  where  the  polar  sun  went  round  the 

horizon's  rim 
And  the  nameless  ice  below  belonged  at  last  to  the 

race  through  him. 


[52] 


Prayer  to  the  Man-bird 

OMAN-BIRD,  fierce  and  far,  so  long  foretold 
By  wandering  prophets  of  the  strange  and  new, 
O  man-bird  whom  the  nations  now  behold 
Rounding  the  cloud  and  heading  down  the  blue, 
Where  the  world's  fowl  on  their  migrations  flew 
In  ancient  autumns,  O  Man,  or  Bird,  or  Thing, 
Beating  the  foamless  air  with  silver  screw, 
Swift  on  the  wonder  of  thy  linen  wing, 
Headless,  yet  with  a  brain  to  dare  and  do, 
O  hear,  O  help  us  in  our  auguring! 

O  thou  who  seemest  to  our  solemn  ken 

The  last  great  victor  over  time  and  space 

And  all  the  primal  enemies  of  men, 

With  whom  they  battle  for  their  dwelling  place  — 

Victor,  indeed,  who  meetest  face  to  face 

Winds  and  all  thunder,  and  laughest  at  the  sea, 

The  waves  and  waterspouts,  and  o'er  the  base 

Of  fire  and  flood  and  earthquake  ridest  free, 

Free  too  o'er  foul  contagions  of  the  race, 

Pity  the  multitudes  whose  dread  is  thee! 

Thou  for  whose  larger  vision  lies  the  lap 

Of  earth  outspread  in  glittering  browrn  and  green  — 

One  whole,  in  clear  proportions,  like  a  map  — 

With  mountain-range  and  forest  and  ravine, 

And  pasture-land  and  tilth,  and  narrow  sheen 

Of  watercourse  and  highway  far  and  near, 

[53] 


Prayer  to  the  Man-Bird 

And  cities  and  men  who  run  about  between, 
And  ships  by  cape  and  isle,  O  Eye  and  Seer  — 
If  but  thou  knowest  wrhat  these  things  may  mean 
The  congregations  of  the  people  hear! 

Thou,  the  wild  loosener  of  the  law  that  bound 
Our  restless  feet  in  journeys  left  and  right 
For  sullen  ages  so  close  against  the  ground, 
Terrible  spirit,  buoyant  on  the  Bright, 
Only  achiever  of  liberty  and  light, 
Floating  in  sunset  with  the  evening  star, 
Like  some  dread  symbol  of  the  soul's  delight, 
Thou,  of  man's  Hope  the  awful  avatar, 
Alert  to  outspeed  the  coming  of  the  night, 
O  hear  the  nations,  hear  us  as  we  are! 

Hear  us  and  be  to  us  the  good  we  name! 
Be  not  that  curse  whose  shadow  flies  with  thee ! 
Be  not  the  demon  of  the  sword  and  flame ! 
For  as  the  air  is  more  than  land  and  sea, 
So  would  the  havoc  and  the  horror  be. 
Scatter  not  blood  in  God's  high  atmosphere, 
Unsullied  and  silent  from  eternity, 
To  drench  the  fields  whose  corn  is  in  the  ear 
After  old  wars  .  .  .  lest  we  forever  flee 
The  House  of  Peace  that  we  are  building  here. 


[54] 


Upland  Lights 

(Mount  Aery.) 

HASTE,  courtier,  from  ancestral  halls, 
Where  hang  the  shields  of  ancient  knights; 
Haste,  ere  the  snow  on  Aery  falls, 
And  come  to  us  at  Upland  Lights. 

The  pines  lie  thick  atop  the  hill, 
And  by  their  margin  on  the  slope, 
Where  old  world-winds  are  blowing  still, 
We've  built  to  west  our  house  of  hope. 

Haste,  courtier,  up  the  greenwood  trail, 
When  moons  are  full  and  cool  the  nights  ; 
And  sleep  with  us  while  sink  the  pale 
Autumnal  stars  o'er  Upland  Lights. 

Then  rouse  with  us,  carouse  with  us 
At  morn  in  spiritual  mirth, 
While  the  gray  mists  diaphanous 
Half  hide  and  half  reveal  the  earth. 

For  over  them,  as  o'er  calm  seas, 
The  sun  shall  strike ;  and  as  they  break, 
We  mark  the  nearer  rocks  and  trees, 
And  then  the  valley,  then  the  lake, 

[55] 


Upland  Lights 

And  then  far  off  the  mountain  chain, 
So  blue  against  the  long  blue  sky; 
And,  like  ship's  watchmen  on  the  main, 
We  drink  the  world  with  open  eye. 

And,  courtier,  if  thou  ailing  be 
With  secret  grudge  or  silent  woe, 
Wait  through  our  afternoon,  and  see 
At  Upland  Lights  the  afterglow; 

See  o'er  those  violet  peaks  the  belts 

Of  lilac,  lavender,  and  green, 

How  each  to  other  softly  melts, 

Or  fades  with  crimson  streaks  between; 

See,  tier  o'er  tier,  the  gold  clouds  strew 
Their  vast  and  flaming  arc  above, 
While  just  beneath,  in  skies  still  blue, 
A  white  star  shines,  the  star  of  love. 

And  if  the  king  decree  a  march, 

A  siege,  or  silver  tribute-fee, 

A  pageant  or  triumphal  arch, 

What  matters  ?  —  let  the  king  decree. 


[56] 


The  Ruined  House 

COME,  come  away!  — 
White  was  this  house  of  ours, 
Vanished  to-day; 
Warm  in  the  shrubs  and  flowers, 
Radiant  in  rainbow  showers, 
Facing  the  sunset's  towers, 
Golden  as  they. 

House  of  desire !  — 
Born  that  there  poets  might 

Sleep  and  aspire! 
Fragrant  in  full-moon  light, 
Rustling  her  vines  by  night, 
Watching  the  comet's  bright 

Midsummer  fire! 

Let  us  be  gone! 
Foully  her  rafters  smolder 

In  the  gray  dawn; 
And  the  black  chimney  shoulder, 
Lone  as  the  mountain  bowlder, 
Stands,  while  the  winter's  colder 

Winds  come  on. 


[57] 


To  an  Elf 

(Edith  C .) 

YOU  elfin  creature  of  these  underwoods, 
Poised  in  a  plat  of  moonlight  on  ethereal 
Pinions,  beside  my  secret  mountain-spring, 
Upon  a  rock,  akimbo  and  imperial, 
You  little  Mischief,  pert  as  any  king, 
Are  you  some  insect-spirit  of  the  floods, 
Or  is  your  quaint  diaphanous  material 
Some  eery  distillation  of  the  mist, 
Or  braid  of  tickling  gossamers  atwist? 
And  can  you  weep  or  tell  me  anything? 


[58] 


The  Scarlet  Skater 

(Epilogue  for  the  Winter  of  1908-9,  Madison.) 

OCITY  of  the  inland  domes  along  the  Winter's 
track, 

Whose  hills  were  white  by  day  and  night  o'er  lakes 
of  Arctic  fire,  » 

Where  the  blue  air   drove  your  ice-boats  out  beside 

the  bluffs  and  back, 

'Twas  there  among  your  skaters  that  I  found  my 
heart's  desire  — 

The  tasseled  head,  the  cloak  of  red, 
The   swiftest   of   your   skaters   with   the    feet   that 
never  tire! 

Hands  across  wre  whirled  away  —  away  from  all  the 

rest 
At  set  of  sun,  through  silent  wastes,  and  paths  of 

orange  fire, 

Onward  to  the  purple  coves  and  woods  below  the  west, 
Where  the  rumbling  ice  was  greener  and  the  world- 
end  winds  were  higher  — 

Round  tasseled  cap  and  scarlet  wrap, 
The  fleetest  of  your  skaters  with  the  stroke  that 
would  not  tire. 

With  hands  still  fast,  unharmed,  at  last  around,  around 

we  bore, 

At  moonrise  through  the  twilight,  down  a  strip  of 
lunar  fire, 

ES9] 


The  Scarlet  Skater 

Orion  floating  up  the  south,  where  summer  nights  be 
fore, 

I'd  seen  from  out  my  light  canoe  the  coming  of  the 
Lyre  — 

From  light  canoe,  ere  yet  I  flew 
With    her,    the    scarlet    skater    with    the    starlight 
streaming  by  her. 

O  City  of  the  inland  domes  beneath  the  polar  star 

(Gold  light,  silver  light,  bells  in  the  spire), 
Where  the  blue  air  drove  your  ice-boats  out  along  the 

bluffs  afar, 

'Twas  there  among  your  daughters  that  I  found  my 
soul's  desire  — 

The  flaming  wings,  the  thrill  of  things, 
The  Spirit  of  the  Far  and  Wide  whose  feet  can 
never  tire. 


[60] 


The  Scholar's  Return 


R 


OBIN,  give  another  chirp  in  the  apple  tree! 
Robin,  come  and  pull  a  worm  and  cock  your  head 
at  me! 


After  all  the  weary  quest  up  and  down  the  lands  — 
Castles  on  the  green  hills,  sphinxes  in  the  sands, 
Cities  by  the  river-lights,  bridges  far  away, — 
Here  again  and  home  again,  nevermore  to  roam  again, 
Here  again  to-day! 

After  all  the  pedant  zest  in  among  the  books  — 
Parchments  old  and  red  and  gold  in  monastic  nooks, 
Hie  and  hoc  and  langedoc,  Caxtons,  Elzevirs, — 
Here  again  and  back  again,  nevermore  to  pack  again, 
After  years  and  years! 

After  playing  connoisseur  at  a  painted  wall  — 
Pea-green  damsel,  purple  mamsell,  king  and  seneschal, 
Saintly  soul  and  aureole,  ruin  and  morass, — 
Here  with  eyes  to  see  again  the  haycock  down  the  lea 

again, 
Lounging  in  the  grass ! 

Robin,  give  another  chirp  in  the  apple  tree! 
Robin,  come  and  pull  a  worm  and  cock  your  head 
at  me! 


[61] 


III.    The  Issues  of  Life 


Out  From  God's  House 

NEW  dawns  shall  come,  but  I  shall  read  the  mass 
No  more,  nor  face  Thy  cross,  O  Christ,  nor  ring 
The  silver  bell,  nor  golden  censer  swing 
Down  fuming  aisles,  God's  angel  as  I  pass, 
Between  the  high  saints  in  cathedral  glass, 
No  more,  nor  never  mellow  Aves  sing 
At  twilight,  when  the  weary  people  bring 
The  long  day's  burden  through  the  gates  of  brass 

To  Mary  Mother. 

Ah,  new  dawns  shall  come, 
New  eves  shall  follow ;  but  it  is  my  grief 
Of  dawns,  of  eves,  to  have  attained  the  sum 
In  love  and  vision:  in  mine  unbelief 
I  leave  God's  house,  like  Zacharias,  dumb, 
Nor  hold,  as  he,  God's  promise  of  relief. 


[65] 


A  Psalm  of  the  Prayerless 

THE  Christ  of  Creeds  has  lost  his  fame, 
His  bells  are  silent  on  the  mount, 
No  candles  on  the  altar  flame, 
And  empty  the  baptismal  fount ; 
The  wine  we  drank  was  moldered  must, 
The  blessed  wafer  but  a  crust. 

Thou,  too,  fair  Face,  beyond  all  creeds, 
Art  sunk  in  ocean  like  a  wraith, 
A  shadow  cast  by  human  needs, 
Lost  when  we  lost  the  light  of  faith  — 
The  "  Father  "  of  this  peopled  shore 
Becomes  but  idle  metaphor. 

Whilst  that  grim  Somewhat  of  the  mind, 
The  primal  Cause,  the  cosmic  One, 
Though  throned  forever  there  behind, 
Gleams  colder  than  the  polar  sun, 
To  whom,  across  the  eternal  ice, 
Man  never  burned  a  sacrifice. 

And  yet  we  plant  and  store  our  shelves, 
And  kiss  the  young  and  lead  the  old, 
And  die  for  dreams  we  dreamed  ourselves, 
Because  the  Laws  within  us  hold; 
And,  closely  read,  those  Laws  immerse 
Our  being  in  the  Universe. 

[66] 


Epilogue 

(To  a  privately  printed  collection  of  verses.) 

I   SANG    (remembering  how  the  free  winds  blow) 
Mount,  sea,  and  fire,  and  earth's  refulgent  days, 
Vernal  horizons  and  autumnal  haze, 
And  moonlit  cities  in  the  midnight  snow, 
And  found  (mid  griefs  that  met  me  on  my  ways) 
Joy  in  the  passion,  pageantry,  and  show. 

I  sang  (remembering  how  the  stars  abide) 
Strong  hands,  and  feet,  and  eyes  uplifted  still, 
Resurgent  hope,   indomitable  will, 
And  man  who  liveth,  when  his  gods  have  died, 
And  found  in  singing  (whatsoe'er  my  skill) 
Joy  in  the  grandeur  of  his  strength  and  pride. 

But  the  World-Spirit  of  the  East  and  West, 

That  shapes  the  Seen  and  guides  Life's  ebb  and  flow, 

The  Loving-Kindness,  named  so  long  ago, 

The  everlasting  Arms,  the  Mother-breast, 

I  scarce  have  known  and  I  may  never  know  — 

And  after  joy,  I  crave  the  gift  of  rest. 


[67] 


The  Rose 

SILESIUS  wrote:     "  The  rose  has  never  a  why,'* 
Chiding  man's  questionings;  and  as  I  read, 
Visions  of  quiet  summer  and  blue  sky, 
And  odorous  blooms  in  gardens  of  the  dead, 
And  shadows  of  their  low  leaves  dancing  by 
On  path  or  grass-plot,  with  the  sunlight  shed 
Between,  came  gently  to  the  inward  eye, 
And  half  in  tears  and  half  in  joy  I  said: 

"  The  rose  may  weep  not  when  its  sisters  die, 
Its  being  beauty,  and  beauty  has  no  '  why/ 
Else  more  than  beauty,  else  a  hope,  a  dream  — 
We,  as  the  issue  of  a  law  more  high, 
Go  up  to  Delphi  where  the  eagles  fly, 
Or  raise  the  columns  of  an  Academe." 


[68] 


Pain  and  Speech 

PAIN  drove  me  from  the  music  and  the  hall, 
Far  from  the  city  and  the  golden  truth, 
In  starless  midnights  of  a  blasted  youth, 
Out  to  the  iron  hills,  beyond  recall, 
Where  in  lone  speech  I  sought  to  burst  my  thrall, 
Then  to  return  with  records,  holding  sooth 
And  song  and  art  for  men;  but  fang  and  tooth 
Bit  at  my  throat  and  choked  my  lungs  with  gall 

And  flame  yet  more. — 

O  art  is  to  the  free! 

When  pain  is  torn,  like  viper,  from  the  breast, 
Its  head  in  dust  beneath  the  heel,  and  we 
Know  it  can  nevermore  uplift  its  crest  — 
Then,  and  then  only,  may  we  masters  be, 
Telling  experience  to  East  and  West. 


[69] 


The  Law  with  Life  for  Gloss 

CHRIST,  wilt  thou  stand  once  more  and  gloss  the 
Law? 

If  wage  of  ill  be  death  and  wage  of  good 
Were  surely  life,  O  Rabbi,  Master,  could 
My  soul  have  reaped  this  harvest,  chaff  and  straw, 
And  burning  thistle,  that  had  sowed  with  awe 
In  God's  own  sun,  for  love  and  livelihood  — 
Still  trusting  thee,  O  Christ,  not  understood  — 
A  field  as  fair  as  husband  ever  saw? 

But  Christ :     "  Man's  faith  when  man  goes  out  to  sow, 
Even  as  man's  grief  when  man  comes  back  to  reap, 
Are  more  than  seed  or  harvest  —  let  them  go. 
Thy  soul's  experience  as  new  winters  sweep 
New  summers  from  the  hills,  at  last  shall  know 
To  gloss  the  Law  —  for  lo,  the  Law  is  deep." 


[70] 


Compensation 

I  KNOW  the  sorrows  of  the  last  abyss: 
I  walked  the  cold  black  pools  without  a  star; 
I  lay  on  rock  of  unseen  flint  and  spar; 
I  heard  the  execrable  serpent  hiss ; 
I  dreamed  of  sun,  fruit-tree,  and  virgin's  kiss ; 
I  woke  alone  with  midnight  near  and  far, 
And  everlasting  hunger,  keen  to  mar; 
But  I  arose,  and  my  reward  is  this: 

I  am  no  more  one  more  amid  the  throng: 
Though  name  be  naught,  and  lips  forever  weak, 
I  seem  to  know  at  last  of  mighty  song; 
And  with  no  blush,  no  tremor  on  the  cheek, 
I  do  claim  consort  with  the  great  and  strong 
Who  suffered  ill  and  had  the  gift  to  speak. 


Threefold  Life 

OUR  life  is  threefold :  toil  for  daily  bread, 
A  little  vintage  and  a  little  oil, 
Consumes  the  middle  day;  and  after  toil, 
When  golden  sunlight   (else  for  joyance  shed) 
Once  more  behind  the  hill  or  holt  is  sped, 
Then  sleep  must  take  us  from  the  stars  and  foil 
The  joyance  of  the  splendor-night  and  coil 
Around  us  dreary  shades  or  dreams  of  dread ; 

But  in  the  space  between  our  toil  and  sleep, 
An  hour  at  level  dawn,  at  eve  an  hour, 
A  sacred  watch  we  keep,  or  ought  to  keep: 
Then  stands  the  soul  at  peace  as  in  a  tower, 
And  hears  the  world's  eternal  music  sweep, 
And  knows  its  heritage  of  light  and  power. 


[72] 


Wanderers 

WHAT  makes  us  wander?     The  west  wind's  call 
and  cry 

When   frost   is  on   the  stubble?     The  harvest   moon 
Crowning  the  hill-road  ?     The  diffused  noon 
Of  summer  and  reaches  of  the  unruffled  sky? 
Sunset?     Or  sea?     Or  rivers  gliding  by 
Around  the  bluffs?     Or  snow  against  the  face? 
Or  some  dim  sense  of  earth  itself  in  space, 
When  at  the  spring  the  wild  geese  northward  fly? 

Is  it  in  the  blood?  —  impulse  of  veined  feet 
And  sinewy  thighs  that  wither  if  they  rest? 
Is  it  in  the  soul  ?  —  to  whom  the  Incomplete 
Is  challenge  to  the  immemorial  quest, 
The  soul  that  leaves  To-day  in  winding  sheet 
For  some  To-morrow  with  stars  upon  its  breast. 


[73] 


Fragment 

AND  I  am  gone  among  the  mighty  dead, 
And  Vergil  brings  me  myrtle  for  my  head, 
And  Shelley  leads  me  to  the  central  fire; 

But  up  and  down  the  earth  by  moor  and  main 
The  evening  scatters  in  the  rust  and  rain 
The  unplucked  roses  of  the  dawn's  desire. 


[74] 


Love  Afar 

I  DARE  not  look,  O  Love,  on  thy  dear  grace, 
On  thine  immortal  eyes,  nor  hear  thy  song, 
For  O  too  sore  I  need  thee  and  too  long, 
Too  weak  as  yet  to  meet  thee  face  to  face. 
Thy    light    would    blind  —  for    dark    my    dwelling 

place  — 
Thy   voice   would   wake   old    thoughts   of   right   and 

wrong, 

And  hopes  which  sleep,  once  beautiful  and  strong, 
That  would  unman  me  with  a  dread  disgrace : 

Therefore,  O  Love,  be  as  the  evening  star, 
With  amber  light  of  land  and  sea  between, 
A  high  and  gentle  influence  from  afar, 
Persuading  from  the  common  and  the  mean, 
Still  as  the  moon  when  full  tides  cross  the  bar 
In  the  wide  splendor  of  a  night  serene. 


[75] 


II  Ben  dell'  Intelletto 

ONE  evening  wrought  upon  by  loneliness 
And  brooding  over  many  things  that  were  — 
My  mountains  and  the  hermit  thrush  and  her 
And  years  since  then  in  cities  of  distress  — 
I  visited  in  quest  of  mirthfulness 
In  crystal  parlors,  where  on  tiger  skin 
Stood  with  her  white  arm  on  her  violin 
A  lady  ever  radiant  to  bless.  .  .  . 

But  in  the  starlight  on  my  still  return: 

"  Though  in  my  chamber  but  a  taper  burn, 

Yet  there  the  deathless  music  of  the  dead  — 

Not  thus,"  I  thought,  "  my  good  I  find,  not  thus, 

Who  saw  the  Titan  bound  by  ^schylus 

And  touched  the  iron  crown  on  Dante's  head." 


[76] 


When  Death  Shall  Come 

WHEN  death  shall  come  (in  spite  of  heart  aflame 
And  wished-for  morrows  and  new  steps  ahead 
On  toward  the  rivers  and  the  morning-red), 
And  I  shall  lie  the  shattered  fool  of  fame, 
Draw  not  the  curtain  down  the  casement  frame 
Past  the  dear  trees ;  and  let  no  prayer  be  said, 
Nor  holy  wine  be  brought  nor  holy  bread 
To  rob  the  pagan  of  his  light  and  name. 

But  get  me  balsam  where  the  west  wind  stirr'th 

And  lay  in  odorous  linen  at  my  cheek, 

That  I  may  enter  to  the  great  Unknown 

With  old  familiar  memories  of  earth, 

Of  forest,  brook,  and  bird,  and  mountain  peak 

And  the  blue  sky  around  them,  zone  o'er  zone ! 


[77] 


Success 

THE  people  have  imagined  a  vain  thing, 
Touching  the  old  issues  that  are  life:  Success 
Will  still  be  reckoned  in  the  more  or  less 
Of  riches,  lands,  or  station ;  still  we  bring 
Our  homage  to  those  paltry  gods  who  fling 
These  paltrier  favors  round  —  to  Custom,  Dress, 
To  Etiquette,  Discretion,  Cleverness  — 
And  still  would  smile  if  once  more  one  should  sing: 

"  Success  is  character,  as  riches  are 

In  knowledge  which  no  fire  nor  fraud  can  take ; 

The  good  man,  conscious  of  the  morning  star, 

Shall  own  all  lands,  as  lovely  for  his  sake; 

His  station  is  with  counselors  afar, 

Who  for  eternal  justice  work  and  wake." 


[78] 


SO,  one  by  one,  the  inexorable  years 
Have  taught  how  slow  my  feet,  how  far  the  sun 
Thy  streams  are  wide,  O  world ;  thy  clouds  are  dun ; 
Thy  mountains  shadowy  with  the  gulfs  of  fears, 
Where  hangs  the  unfelled  pine;  thy  dry  wind  seres; 
And  reptiles  foul  thy  pleasant  springs  that  run; 
Yet  though  I  die  before  the  light  be  won, 
That  light  more  dim  to  me  at  last  for  tears, 

O  let  it  be  on  some  supreme  far  height, 
Facing  some  westward  ocean,  blue  below, 
With  might  to  lean  upon  the  verge  —  with  might 
To  lift  the  arm  and  point  that  they  may  know, 
Who  seek  me  dying,  I  die  unto  the  light, 
And  leave  me  dead  in  sunset  lying  so ! 


[79 1 


Obscurity 

MY  aims  have  brought  me  neither  deed  nor  praise, 
For  they  were  bastards  of  unproved  desire, 
Got  in  unholy  years  to  mock  their  sire 
With  fatal  loves  and  desperate  delays. 
And  thus  for  me  no  boisterous  square  shall  blaze 
With  festal  nights  and  pageantry  of  fire ; 
For  me  shall  sound  from  no  cathedral  choir 
The  larger  music  of  victorious  days, 

For  me,  the  meagre,  thwarted  —  O  my  soul, 
Hast  thou  no  tear?     Nay,  nay:  there  still  abide 
The  mountain  air,  the  sunset  "and  the  roll 
Of  thunder  to  the  immemorial  tide, 
And  the  deep  self  of  me  within  the  Whole 
Which,  still  by  smiling,  still  is  justified. 


[so] 


The  Law  Prevails 

THE  Law  prevails !     When  every  silver  gain, 
So  proudly  won  from  furious  greed  of  lust, 
Lies  with  man's  broken  spirit  in  the  dust, 
And  earth's  pure  winds  blow  over  him  in  vain, 
He  sees  in  visions,  born  of  utter  pain, 
The  Law  anew  —  how  beautiful  and  just  — 
And  its  profound,  majestical  "  Thou  must " 
Sounds  in  his  soul  like  thunder  down  the  plain 

At  twilight. 

And  he  turns,  he  looks,  he  lifts 
His  empty  hands,  his  pleading  arms  to  heaven  — 
Then  roused  anew,  then  on  anew,  he  shifts 
His  burden  off  and  scorns  to  be  forgiven  — 
While  manhood's  pride,  his  soul's  salvation  still, 
Unto  "  Thou  must "  makes  answer  bold :  "  I  will" 


[81] 


For  a  School  of  Artists 

HEAR  me  at  last!  I've  read  old  books  and  new; 
I've  housed  with  sages  either  side  the  sea; 
I've  asked  my  soul  when  stars  were  over  me; 
I've  watched  in  cities  men  with  work  to  do; 
I've  been  at  Delphi  when  the  eagle  flew; 
I've  wept  alone  in  dark  Gethsemane ; 
And  now  I  know,  whatever  gods  there  be, 
Whatever  temples  rise,  my  guess  was  true : 

The  Good  is  good  —  and  we  shall  tend  the  fire, 
The  holy  flame  that  burns  behind  the  veil! 
And  each  design  of  ours  and  each  desire 
That  would  deny  the  eternal  Good  shall  fail  — 
And  art,  that  mocks  that  sunbright  temple,  must 
Lie  soon  or  late  a  harlot  in  the  dust. 


To  the  Victor 

MAN'S  mind  is  larger  than  his  brow  of  tears: 
This  hour  is  not  my  all  of  Time ;  this  place 
My  all  of  Earth ;  nor  this  obscene  disgrace 
My  all  of  Life;  and  thy  complacent  sneers 
Shall  not  pronounce  my  doom  to  my  compeers 
Whilst  the  Hereafter  lights  me  in  the  face, 
And  from  the  Past,  as  from  the  mountain's  base, 
Rise,  as  I  rise,  the  long  tumultuous  cheers. 

And  who  slays  me  must  overcome  a  world: 
Heroes  at  arms,  and  virgins  who  became 
Mothers  of  children,  prophecy  and  song; 
Walls  of  old  cities  with  their  flags  unfurled; 
Peaks,  headlands,  ocean  and  its  isles  of  fame  — 
And  sun  and  moon  and  all  that  made  me  strong. 


The  Vagabond 

AROUND  the  world  I've  been  in  many  a  guise, 
In  cape,  or  furs,  or  oilskin,  fronting  Fate; 
Down  rainy  seas,  through  many  a  stormy  strait, 
By  upland  forests,  over  hills  that  rise 
White,  green,  or  crimson  in  the  season  skies; 
Through  civic  arch  and  eagle-crested  gate, 
Imperial  boulevards  and  halls  of  state; 
And  asked  for  Fame  —  and  failed  of  every  prize.  .  . 

Except,  except  the  experienced  eye  and  free, 
And  these  impregnable  old  sides  of  mirth; 
Except,  except  a  glorious  wisdom,  worth 
All  the  poor  scorn  these  tatters  bring  to  me: 
Some  feeling  for  the  massy  bulk  of  earth, 
Some  still  monitions  of  mortality. 


Mens  Immortalis 

I  AM  the  Lord  of  Heaven  and  Hell;  I  reign 
King  from  the  blue  void  to  dim  gulfs  below; 
My  counselors  were  gathered  long  ago 
From  conquered  hosts  of  pleasure  and  of  pain. 
And  when  at  sanction  of  their  suzerain 
They  speak  the  wisdom  only  they  can  know, 
My  just  decrees  work  thrift  or  overthrow 
Throughout  my  old  and  eminent  domain. 

I  plant  the  mountain  where  I  laid  the  plain, 
Create  the  seas  and  suns  of  afterglow, 
Call  the  great  thunder  and  the  wild,  slant  rain, 
And  rear  me  shrines  for  worship  or  for  show  — 
Destroying  all,  when,  for  my  growth  and  gain, 
I  wish  new  worlds  to  rise,  new  winds  to  blow. 


[85 1 


The  Poet  in  the  City 

THE  mornings  sweep  with  gust  and  snow 
Round  tower  and  bridge  and  sordid  halls, 
And  cold  the  yellow  evenings  glow 
Behind  the  city's  somber  walls. 

And  day  by  day,  with  dreams  unsaid, 
And  fiery  hope  that  will  not  die, 
We  toil  anew  for  daily  bread, 
My  still  unconquered  soul  and  I. 

Our  sunbright  peaks  are  lost ;  we  see 
No  more  the  midland  rivers  flow; 
The  echoes  of  our  mountain  glee 
Became  a  memory  long  ago. 

For  us  no  more  the  good  ship  lifts 
Its  bounding  prows  in  midsea  day; 
Its  smoke  on  blue  horizons  drifts, 
Somewhere  in  ocean  far  away. 

But  the  swift  songs  we  may  not  sing 
(That  comrade  scarce  would  mark  if  sung). 
Like  winds  of  an  eternal  spring 
Still  sound  for  us  and  keep  us  young. 

And  still  we  boast  our  mountain  birth, 
Our  hardy  nurture  on  the  sea, 
Which  give  us,  as  the  lords  of  earth, 
The  strength  to  labor  and  be  free. 
[86] 


Vigil 

WHEN  austere  hunger,  the  stern  lord  of  all, 
Shut  me  from  day,  the  mountainous  and  free, 
To  sell  for  bread  my  golden  liberty, 
In  her  chief  city  her  obscurest  thrall, 
I  turned  to  night,  deep  night  primordial; 
On  the  bleak  housetop  I  went  up  to  see, 
And  in  my  desolation  came  to  me 
The  starry  vision  of  the  flaming  wall. 

By  chastening  sorrow  rendered  fit  and  wise, 

My  utter  dearth  gave  me  immortal  eyes, 

And  when  night  broke  the  day's  blue  dome,  I  passed 

Coeval,  outward  where  eternity 

Fills  her  long  coasts  with  winds  than  ours  more  vast 

And  radiance  whiter  than  the  polar  sea. 


[87] 


For  a  Drudger 

THOU  shalt  win  victory  from  this  dull  routine 
And  crown  thy  head  with  laurel  when  'tis  won: 
This  sure  restraint  thy  youth  was  fain  to  shun 
Will  put  new  manhood  in  thy  step  and  mien, 
And  in  thy  words,  that  something  strong  and  keen 
Which  comes  of  life  when  life  has  bravely  done  — 
Nor  wilt  thou  all  forget  the  mountain  sun, 
Nor  the  wild  Alps  with  winds  and  snows  between. 

Thou  shalt  win  life:  for  thou  shalt  learn  with  awe 
How  life  is  passion,  but  passion  self-controlled, 
That  flames,  even  as  the  stars,  by  ancient  law, — 
Even  as  the  stars  that  flame  o'er  field  and  fold, 
Beyond  earth's  nether  coasts  of  gust  and  flaw, 
Bright,  beautiful,  unalterable  and  old. 


[88] 


With  the  Age 

FOR  good  or  ill,  I  master  thy  desire, 
O  age  and  country,  making  thy  life  mine ; 
I  fell  the  forest  and  I  lay  the  line; 
I  guide  the  cranes  that  swing  the  steel  from  fire 
And  flaring  blast;  I  ride  the  inland  flyer 
Through  the  sown  fields ;  in  earth's  vast  rain  and  shine 
I  coast  the  sea  with  many  a  bold  design, 
And  visit  cities,  climbing  tower  and  spire, 

And  look  abroad  and  say:  "  How  strong  ye  are! 

How  ominous  and  wide!     What  new-born  will 

Is  housed  among  ye,  cities  near  and  far 

By  cape  and  river  and  the  changeless  hill ! 

How  large  your  dreams,  when  'neath  the  polar  star, 

The  winter  night  lies  round  ye,  cold  and  still." 


[89] 


The  Muse 

SPIRIT,  whom  seer  and  singer  name  the  Muse, 
Be  with  me,  radiant  with  thy  peace  and  power, 
When  rocks  are  foaming  and  the  main  seas  lower, 
Or  mountain  sunsets  widen  with  all  hues; 
Be  with  me  when  I  wake  in  upland  dews, 
And  when  I  walk  in  city  dust  or  shower, 
And  when  I  love  in  hall  or  watch  in  tower; 
Be  with  me  when  I  win  and  when  I  lose  1 

Thou  shalt  be  with  me!     The  decree  is  mine! 
And  mine  dominion  and  the  primal  will! 
Though  called  no  longer  from  Parnassus  hill, 
Thou  shalt  be  with  me  and  no  less  divine  — 
The  immanent  Vigilance,  creating  still 
The  nobler  nature,  the  more  bold  design. 


[90] 


The  World  and  the  Soul 

THE  starry  clouds  about  the  world  are  blown, 
And  rain-fresh  suns  rise  over  mount  and  mead ; 
The  slant  pine  sways  in  black  crevasse;  the  weed 
Swings  its  green  locks  in  ocean  on  a  stone; 
The  herds  are  on  the  hills;  kings  on  the  throne; 
White  cities  rear  their  gates  for  show  or  need 
And  sing  of  heroes  —  and  behold!  a  seed 
Here  on  the  coast  of  time,  my  soul  is  sown. 

Yet  lo !  a  world  within  its  obscure  cell  — 
Light,  darkness,  storms,  shapes  demon  and  divine, 
The  inward  visions  out  of  Heaven  and  Hell  — 
And  choice  to  make  the  one  or  other  mine ! 
Hold  fast,  my  soul,  hold  fast  and  all  is  well! 
Master  thine  own  and  every  world  is  thine! 


[91] 


The  Good  Cause 

ROUND  the  old  house  where  lilacs  bloomed  and 
died, 

Armed   with   the  mimic  bow  my   father   gave, 
A  boy  I  marched  and  dreamed  of  coast  and  cave 
And  bears  descending  from  the  mountain  side; 
Or  down  dusk  vistas  of  the  arbor,  wide, 
And  cool  with  scent  of  grapes,  I  sped  to  save 
Fair  ladies  lost  in  woods,  for  I  was  brave 
And  sought  adventure  equal  to  my  pride. 

That  house  is  down;  the  high  hour  never  came; 
The  boy  remembered  but  in  tale  or  jest, 
Yet  the  good  cause,  O  Life,  is  still  the  same; 
I  see  the  days,  the  scope,  of  East  and  West; 
The  shapes  I  see  are  of  heroic  name  — 
Scorn,  poverty,  disease  —  and  this  is  best. 


[92] 


Not  an  Academician 

YOUR  courts  and  carven  porticos  excel, 
Ye've  set  the  busts  and  bound  the  books  of  fame, 
Ye've  taught  me  many  a  date  and  many  a  name 
Of  Heaven  and  Earth  and  seven  pits  of  Hell; 
And,  planning  once  for  long  with  ye  to  dwell, 
I  bought  me  purple  robes  and  tried  the  same, 
But  ever  on  the  midnight  rose  a  flame  — 
O  friends  of  austere  memory,  farewell ! 

No,  no !  persuade  not :  "  Thou  shalt  trust  the  day, 
The  marble  order,  the  preciser  creed, 
Thou  shalt  acknowledge  law  and  bate  the  fire ;  " 
For  I  must  answer:  "There  is  one  only  way  — 
The  night  revealed  it  —  though  I  fall  and  bleed, 
God  help  me,  I  will  trust  the  heart's  desire." 


[93] 


The  Phantom  Skater 

THE  moon  has  burst  the  winter  cloud, 
And  silvers  o'er  the  frozen  reeds, 
And  up  the  forest  stream,  a  bowed 
And  solitary  skater  speeds. 

His  scarf  floats  o'er  his  bended  back, 
His  curved  blades  shimmer  in  the  night; 
He  hears  the  rumbling  ice-field  crack, 
With  stroke  to  left,  with  stroke  to  right. 

The  wild  wind  whirls  from  leaf  and  limb 

The  dry  snow  out  across  his  path; 

In  wild  ravines  afar  and  dim 

The  wolves  of  famine  howl  in  wrath. 

I  know  not  where  he  closed  the  door, 
Nor  whither  bound,  nor  what  the  clime; 
But  on  he  glides  forevermore, 
A  skater  of  the  olden  time: 

They  say  he  craves  no  earthly  bread, 
They  say  he  cannot  fear  nor  tire, 
They  say  that  he  is  spirit-fed, 
And  name  him  Phantom,  Hope,  Desire. 


[94] 


I  Feel  Me  Near  to  Some  High  Thing 

I  FEEL  me  near  to  some  High  Thing 
That  earth  awaits  from  me, 
But  cannot  find  in  all  my  journeying 
What  it  may  be. 

I  get  no  hint  from  hall  or  street, 
From  forest,  hill,  or  plain, 
Save  now  a  sudden  quickening  of  my  feet, 
Now  some  wild  pain. 

I  only  feel  it  should  be  done, 

As  Something  great  and  true, 

And  that  my  hands  could  build  it  in  the  sun, 

If  I  but  knew. 


[95] 


The  Test 

STILL  at  the  wheel  to  labor  down  the  sea 
With  battered  funnels  and  with  riven  flags, 
To  overcome  the  mountains  on  bare  crags 
Above  the  thunder  and  the  farthest  tree, 
To  face  a  flaring  city  —  the  mad  glee 
And  ululations  of  her  reeling  masques 
And  human  drift  —  are  self-sustaining  tasks, 
Because  they  challenge  by  their  majesty. 

But  in  these  swamps  behind  the  hovel  yard 
To  make  my  obscene  \vay  through  stench  and  flies 
And  oozy  fibers,  and  refuse  glass  and  shard, 
And  still  to  keep  some  token  in  my  eyes 
Of  inward  dignity  and  God's  good  skies, 
This,  this  is  manhood,  this  is  truly  hard. 


[96] 


The  Crisis 

THIS  solemn  hour  God  takes  from  out  all  Time  — 
Time  that  built  up  the  mountains  and  the  main, 
And  brought  embattled  empires  down  the  plain, 
And  raised  the  cities  seen  in  every  clime  — 
This  solemn  hour  God  takes  from  out  all  Time, 
Though  Time  with  mightier  issues  pregnant  be 
Forevermore,  and  gives  this  hour  to  me, 
Wherein  to  prove  my  manhood  at  the  prime. 

And  I  walk  on,  even  to  the  martial  voice 

Of  strong  musicians  that  have  faced  the  foe; 

And  with  me  stars  and  troops  of  angels  go, 

And  God  is  watching,  ready  to  rejoice.  .  .  . 

And  I  walk  on  ...  to  where  the  roads  of  Choice 

Are  broad  and  narrow  .     .  shall  I  falter?  .     .  No! 


[97] 


Prayer  in  the  House  of  Pain 

OALL-AND-ONE,  whom  once  of  old  I  knew 
As  Thought  and  Power  behind  the  world  and 

through, 

When  in  the  calm  detachment  of  the  schools 
I  solved  thy  Name  by  reason  and  the  rules: 
Now  on  thy  highway  in  the  House  of  Pain, 
O  Long  Forgot,  I  come  to  thee  again. 

0  Thought  and  Power  around  us  and  above, 
Whom  life  must  solve,  if  life  would  live,  as  Love, 
Though  mocked  by  science  and  though  dazed  by  grief, 

1  will  believe  —  help  thou  mine  unbelief! 


[98] 


IV.    Love  that  Lost 


The  Bitterest  Hour 

THOU  hast  poured  poison  in  my  cup  of  gall ! 
The  mountain  echo  o'er  the  lake  and  lea, 
The  mountain  sunsets,  flaming  wild  and  free, 
The  mountain  stillness  of  the  stars,  the  fall 
Of  mountain  waters,  and  the  shadowy  call 
Of  mountain  birds  had  blessed  and  haunted  me, 
Blent  with  a  mountain  memory  of  thee, 
When  bitter  years  had  urged  me  far  from  all: 

O  dear  as  inspiration!  life  and  light, 
And  olden  love,  and  immemorial  mood 
Were  with  me  yet  in  sordid  house  and  hall  — 
Till,  like  the  pest,  dank-fingered  in  the  night, 
Thy  treachery  fouled  my  soul's  last  livelihood, 
And  poured  the  poison  in  my  cup  of  gall. 


[101] 


The  Jester 

(For  M J 

>'  I  A/<S  little  here  nor  there  to  you 

JL      Or  me  what  now  I  say, 
But  just  another  rhyme  or  two 
To  pass  the  time  of  day. 
You  like  my  rhymes,  you  say  you  do. 
They  are  so  very  gay.) 

I  knew  a  fool  who  followed  one 

Bright  lady  of  the  land. 

The  lady  smiled  the  fool  upon, 

So  regally  and  bland, 

And  had  him  put  his  coxcomb  on 

And  sit  and  hold  her  hand. 

Then  would  she  smile  his  rhymes  to  hear, 

And  pet  him  and  aver 

Her  fool  was  twenty  times  as  dear 

As  other  ladies'  were. 

(And  right  was  she,  for  all  the  year 

He  rhymed  to  only  her.) 

For  all  the  year  he'd  rhyme  and  dream 
(O  that's  a  fool  his  part), 
"  My  lady's  fair  as  fair  may  seem 
And  loves  me  without  art," — 
Until  the  heart  leapt  up  in  him 
(A  fool  may  have  a  heart!) 
[102] 


The  Jester 

The  lady  marked  his  heart  to  leap 

And  thought,  "Of  every  jest 

That  through  my  poor  fool's  brain  can  creep 

This  is  indeed  the  best," — 

(For  let  a  fool  but  love  and  weep 

The  whole  fool  stands  confessed). 

The  fool  he  told  (ah,  foolishly), 

His  love  he  told  so  true; 

He  scarce  did  see  her  shallow  glee 

At  what  a  fool  could  do; 

Till  jested  she,  "  Nay,  fool,  ah  me, 

I  am  not  worthy  you." 

The  fool  he  did  not  understand 
(His  wits  had  little  lore), 
The  fool  he  could  not  understand 
(But  ah,  his  heart  was  sore). 
He  left  the  lady  of  the  land 
And  jested  nevermore. 

The  lady  of  the  land  did  grieve 
For  hours  twenty- four; 
Another  fool  she  did  receive 
Long  ere  the  next  was  o'er: 
For  every  lady,  I  believe, 
Must  have  one  fool  —  or  more. 


[103] 


The  Jester 

('Tis  little  here  nor  there  to  you 

Or  me  what  now  I  say, 

"Twas  but  another  rhyme  or  two 

To  pass  the  time  of  day. 

You  like  my  rhymes,  you  say  you  do, 

They  are  so  very  gay.) 


[104] 


A  Voyage 

AS  hunted  as  the  veriest  thief  that  flees 
I  crossed  the  city  of  dead  hope  that  day, 
With  no  farewells,  and  boarded  at  the  quay 
The  high  red  liner,  headed  for  the  seas. 
The   brown   smoke   boiled   from   out  her  stack;  the 

breeze 

Fluttered  two  flags ;  the  deck  with  folk  was  gay ; 
The  whistle  shrieked;  the  ropes  were  cast  away, 

And  forth  she  steamed. 

• 

She  passed  the  isles,  the  leas, 
The  green  hills,  left  and  right.     Behind  at  home 
The  gray  towers  faded  far.     The  setting  sun 
Shot  golden  lines  along  our  wake  of  foam; 
The  ocean  stars  rose  round  us  one  by  one. 
I  took  my  berth  to  close  my  eyes  and  weep; 
I  recked  of  nothing  —  I  was  on  the  deep. 


[105] 


Archilochus 

KNOW'ST  thou  this  tale  ?     Archilochus,  the  Greek, 
High  browed  and  dark,  like  his  own  cliffs  and  sea 
/Egean,  had  to  bride  Neobule, 
The  fair  and  false,  who  spurned  her  poet,  weak 
For  love  (poor  fool!)  — but  he  arose  to  wreak 
Vengeance  which  is  his  immortality; 
And  his  iambics,  having  scorn  in  fee 
And  stings  of  truth,  did  like  the  vulture's  beak 

Rend  at  her  heart  —  until  despair  from  guile 
And  wantonness  stripped  off  the  spangled  veil 
Of  good  repute;  and  all  men  knew  her  vile  — 
And  she  did  hang  herself,  she  did.     The  gale 
Blew  all  her  garments  round  the  Parian  isle, 
And    none    would    gather   them.     Know'st    thou   the 
tale? 


[106] 


The  Drachenfels 

OF  old  we  housed  us  on  the  Hampshire  hill, 
We  plucked  the  rose,  unwound  the  columbine 
From  roadside  birch,  we  planted  woodland  vine 
Around  the  door;  we  leapt  the  rock,  the  rill; 
We  saw  a  hundred  mountain  suns  all  still 
And  gold  go  down  the  sky ;  with  cheek  on  mine 
A  hundred  eves  you  sat  beneath  the  pine 
And  twilight  moon  to  hear  the  whippoorwill 
With  me  of  old. 

And  now !  —  deep  seas  divide, 
Deep  seas  and  deeper  hate. —  The  Rhine  is  fair 
Through  mists  of  morning,  and  along  its  side 
The  Drachenfels  uplifts  its  ruin  bare 
Before  me;  and  I  stand  in  sullen  pride, 
And  of  your  lot  will  neither  know  nor  care. 


[107] 


The  Image  of  Delight 

OHOW  came  I  that  loved  stars,  moon,  and  flame, 
And  unimaginable  wind  and  sea, 
All  inner  shrines  and  temples  of  the  free, 
Legends  and  hopes  and  golden  books  of  fame; 
I  that  upon  the  mountain  carved  my  name 
With  cliffs  and  clouds  and  eagles  over  me, 

0  how  came  I  to  stoop  to  loving  thee  — 

1  that  had  never  stooped  before  to  shame? 

0  'twas  not  thee!     Too  eager  of  a  white 
Far  beauty  and  a  voice  to  answer  mine, 
Myself  I  built  an  image  of  delight, 
Which  all  one  purple  day  I  deemed  divine  — 
And  when  it  vanished  in  the  fiery  night, 

1  lost  not  thee,  nor  any  shape  of  thine. 


[108] 


Postscript 

LOVE!  and  my  soul  like  ashes  at  thy  feet! 
Love!  and  blind  tears  and  shattered  hopes  that 

fell! 

A  mad   forgiveness  —  and   a  wild   farewell !  — 
And  broken  steps  along  an  old-world  street, 
The  seas  between  us !  —  then  the  withering  heat  — 
The  hate  that,  like  a  demon  roused  from  hell, 
Smote  into  flame  the  splendor  and  the  spell, 
Till  thou  to  me  wert  ashes,  Marguerite !  — 

Ah,  I  remember. —  But  when  storms  are  done, 
The  wet  leaves  sparkle  on  the  mountain  tree; 
The  gold  clouds  lie  about  the  setting  sun; 
The  blue  waves  roll  their  white  crests  in  from  sea; 
The  gentle  stars  mount  heaven  one  by  one 
With  ancient  light,  as  now  they  mount  to  me. 


[1091 


Resolve 

THERE  is  an  end.     The  fever  and  the  pain, 
The  craving  unto  life  with  that  far  hope 
Of  mornings  and  of  twilights,  seen  by  two, 
Shall  torture  me  no  more.     The  nightly  stars 
Beam  downward  and  the  sun  and  moon  arise 
And  pass  o'er  earth  with  all  its  snows  and  grass 
And  towers  and  scattered  graves,  and  seeds  are  blown 
And  pestilence  with  winds,  and  there  be  tears 
For  sorrow,  smiles  for  joy.     The  Eternal  Law 
Works  in  all  regions,  bringing  light  and  dark. 
It  works  in  me.     It  makes  in  me  an  end 
Even  of  the  woe  which  it  before  had  wrought, 
And  leads  me  to  the  springs  beyond  the  mount, 
Beyond  all  populous  cities,  where  each  man 
Must  flee  when  all  is  lost,  and  in  myself 
I  find  at  last  the  rod  which  strikes  the  rocks 
Of  living  waters. 

I  have  garnered  long 

O'er  many  lands,  in  many  books.     I  own 
Old  trees  and  castles,  cataracts  and  heights, 
And  orient  cities  dusk  along  the  Nile, 
Old  fountains,  marbles,  pictures,  red  and  gold, 
From  blue  Valdarno,  and  old  meters  too 
From  Scio,  Delphi,  Mantua  down  the  South, 
From  northern  Weimar  and  the  Avon  stream, 
And  folksongs  of  the  Alp  and  Apennine 
And  German  rivers.     Lo,  I  own  the  dream 
[no] 


Resolve 

Of  Plato  and  the  hardiness  of  Kant. 

I  have  all  wealth  within  me;  I  will  look. 

And  I  have  that  within  me  which  shall  build 
Even  from  the  fragments  of  dead  hopes  a  house 
Where  I  may  dwell  as  I  grow  more  a  god. 


V.    Men  of  High  Report 


Lincoln 

(For  the  unveiling  of  the  replica  of  Weinman's  statue  of 
Lincoln,  University  Hill,  Madison,  Wisconsin,  June  22,  /pop.) 


THERE  runs  a  simple  argument 
That,  with  the  power  to  give  a  great  man  birth, 
The  insight  and  the  exaltation 
To  judge  him  at  his  splendid  worth 
Best  proves  the  vigor  of  a  continent, 
The  blood  that  pulses  in  a  nation. 

We  call  ourselves  the  militant  and  wise 

Heirs  of  dominion,  lords  of  enterprise; 

And  'tis  no  craven  faith  whose  works  we  name: 

The  prairies  sown,  the  factories  aflame, 

The  mountain  mines,  the  battle-fleets   that  came 

Victorious  home  from  islands  of  sunrise, 

The  cities  towering  to  the  windy  skies  — 

A  new-world  faith  that  is  a  world's  new  fame! 

Yet  we  are  wiser  than  we  think  we  are, 

Nor  walk  we  by  that  iron  faith  alone: 

God  and  the  west  wind  and  the  morning  star 

And  manhood  still  are  more  than  steel  or  stone !  — 

And  among  the  proofs  of  what  we  do  inherit 

In   the   dominion   of  the  spirit, 

Through  that  material  uproar,  toil,  and  strife 

[us] 


Lincoln 

Of  our  vast  people's  life, 
There  is  a  story,  eloquent  and  low, 
Waiting  the  consecrated  scroll  and  pen, 
More  lovely,  more  momentous  than  we  dream: 
How,  year  by  year,  behind  the  blare  and  show, 
Lincoln  has  prospered  in  the  hearts  of  men; 
And  a  great  love  compelleth  to  the  theme. 

II. 

I  stood  among  the  watchers  by  the  bed, 

And  caught  the  solemn  cry  of  Stanton,  when, 

A  statesman  gifted  with  a  prophet's  ken, 

Stanton  looked  up  to  God  and  said, 

On  the  first  moment  the  gaunt  form  lay  dead, 

"  Now  he  belongs  unto  the  ages!  " — then, 

Transfigured  to  a  little  child  again, 

Bowed  in  his  hands  that  grim,  defiant  head. 

III. 

I  marked  a  people,  hearing  what  had  come, 
Whisper,  as  if  Death  housed  in  every  street, 
And  look  in  each  others'  faces  and  grow  dumb; 
While,  with  the  Stars  and  Stripes  for  winding  sheet, 
And  roses  and  lilies  at  his  head  and  feet, 
He  crossed  the  valleys  to  the  muffled  drum. 
And  still  the  white-haired  mothers  tell 
How  knell  of  bell  and  tolling  bell, 
Onward  and  overland, 
[116] 


Lincoln 

On  from  the  ocean  strand, 

Over  the  misty  ridges, 

Over  the  towns  and  bridges, 

Over  the  river  ports, 

Over  the  farms  and  forts, 

Mingled  their  aery  music,  far  and  high, 

With  April  sunset  and  the  evening  sky. 

IV. 

Grief  mellowed  into  love  at  Time's  eclipse, 

Our  loftiest  love  from  out  our  loftiest  grief: 

From  him  we  have  named  the  mountains  and  the  ships, 

We  have  named  our  children  from  the  martyred  chief ; 

And,  whilst  we  write  his  works  and  words  of  state 

For  the  proud  archives  of  the  Country's  great, 

How  often  it  seems  we  like  to  linger  best 

Around  the  little  things  he  did  or  said, 

The  quaint  and  kindly  shift,  the  homespun  jest, 

Dear  random  memories  of  a  father  dead; 

His  image  is  in  the  cottage  and  the  hall, 

A  tattered  print  perhaps,  a  bronze  relief, 

One  calm  and  holy  influence  over  all, 

A  household  god  that  guards  an  old  Belief; 

And  in  a  mood  divine, 

Elder  than  Christian  psalm  or  pagan  rite, 

We  have  made  his  birthplace  now  the  Nation's  shrine, 

Fencing  the  hut  that  bore  him  in  the  night, 

[117] 


Lincoln 

As  'twere  the  mausoleum  of  a  Line, 

With  granite  colonnades  and  walls  forever  white. 

V. 

And  poets,  walking  in  the  open  places, 

By  marsh,  or  meadow,  or  Atlantic  seas, 

Twined  him  with  Nature  in  their  harmonies  — 

Folk-hero  of  the  last  among  the  races, 

As  elemental  as  the  rocks  and  trees; 

One  of  the  world's  old  legendary  faces, 

Moving  amid  Earth's  unknown  destinies. 

To  Lowell  he  became  like  Plutarch's  men, 

Yet  worked  in  sweetest  clay  from  out  the  breast 

Of  the  unexhausted  West; 

In  Whitman's  nocturne  at  the  twilight  hush 

He  seems  a  spirit  come  to  dwell  again 

With  odor  of  lilac  and  star  and  hermit  thrush ; 

And,  though  the  goodly  hills  of  song  grow  dim 

Beyond  the  smoke  and  traffic  of  to-day, 

The  poets  somehow  found  the  ancient  way 

And  reached  the  summits  when  they  sang  of  him. 

VI. 

The  sculptors  dropped  their  measuring  rods, 
Their  cunning  chisels  from  the  gods, 
From  woman  in  her  marble  nakedness, 
From  what  they  carved  of  flowing  veil  or  dress, 
Perceiving  something  they  might  not  contemn, 
[118] 


Lincoln 

A  majesty  of  unsolved  loveliness, 

Standing  between  the  eternal  sun  and  them. 

And,  in  his  gnarled  face, 

With  shaggy  brow  and  bearded  base, 

The  corded  hand,  the  length  and  reach  of  limb, 

Their  generous  handicraft 

Has  proved  how  well  they  saw 

No  antic  Nature's  curious  sport  or  whim 

Who  made  him  as  she  laughed, 

But  strict  adjustment  after  subtlest  law  — 

To  finer  sense  a  firm  and  ordered  whole, 

An  output  of  a  soul, 

A  frame,  a  visage  for  delight  and  awe, 

Even  were  it  not  also  witness  unto  Time 

Of  deeds  sublime. 

Thus,  true  of  eye  and  hand, 

The  sculptors  gave  his  statues  to  the  land. 

VII. 

One  stands  in  Boston's  crowded  square, 
Stern  to  rebuke  and  pitiful  to  save, 
One  moment  of  his  labors  it  stands  there, 
And  from  its  feet  is  rising  up  the  slave; 
One  by  Chicago's  noisy  highway  stands, 
As  if  pronouncing  on  a  civic  fate, 
Seeming  to  view  a  people's  outstretched  hands, 
Seeming  to  feel  the  armies  at  the  gate. 

[119] 


Lincoln 

And  now  .  .  .  and  here  .  .  . 

In  the  young  summer  of  the  hundredth  year, 

So  beautiful  and  still, 

The  scholar  (he  who  learns  to  wait 

For  meanings  than  the  rest  more  clear) 

Unveileth  on  the  everlasting  hill, 

With  everlasting  sky  around  its  head, 

Between  the  woodland  inland  waters, 

Fronting  a  domed  city  spread 

In  yonder  distance  like  a  garden  bed, 

This  mighty  Presence  for  our  sons  and  daughters, 

That  shows  him  not  in  what  he  wrought, 

But  in  the  lonely  grandeur  of  that  trust 

Which  made  him  patient,  strong,  and  just  — 

Yet  seated,  forever  out  of  reach  of  ought 

Of  olden  battles  and  the  dread  debate, 

Whatever  thunder  comes  or  tempest  blows; 

Watching  some  Planet  of!  the  shores  of  Thought, 

Not  parted  from  but  still  above  the  state, 

In  long  supremacy  of  high  repose. 


[120] 


Kaiser  Wilhelm  in  Bonn 

THE  Kaiser  comes!  and  Rhineland's  houses  ring, 
And  windows  flutter  with  the  Black-white-red, 
And  Rhineland's  sun  is  golden  overhead, 
And  Rhineland's  hymn  a  thousand  voices  sing, 
As  down  the  highway,  where  the  white  girls  fling 
The  flowers  of  Rhineland  for  her  lord  to  tread, 
With  hand  on  rein  and  helmet  on  the  head, 
The  Kaiser  comes  —  and  every  inch  a  King ! 

He  knows  the  land  of  olden  battles  won; 
He  hears  a  sound  and  he  will  not  forget, 
And  Rhineland's  watch  is  still  the  true,  the  free ; 
And  in  this  faith  his  eye  hath  dared  the  sun, 
And  his  great  heart,  O  Fatherland,  hath  set 
Its  larger  hope  for  all  mankind  in  thee. 


•  [ 


Edgar  Allan  Poe 

(January  Jg,  /pop.) 

NOT  for  the  tales,  where  magic  voices  rave 
In  wizard  night  through  haunted  houses  drear, 
Till  the  spell  makes  me  half  in  love  with  fear; 
Not  for  the  weirder  art,  the  rhymed  stave 
Wailing  of  lunar  wood,  and  wan  sea-wave, 
And  lamp,  and  ghostly  bird,  and  bridal  bier, 
Lay  I  these  verses,  at  this  hundredth  year, 
Poe,  on  the  marble  of  thy  wintry  grave ; 

But  for  the  unconquerable  soul  that  pain 
Nor  poverty  with  forty  stripes  and  odd, 
Fire  in  the  throat,  nor  fever  in  the  brain, 
Death  in  the  house,  nor  calumny  abroad, 
Could  torture  from  a  faith,  not  held  in  vain, 
With  service  unto  Beauty  —  unto  God. 


[122] 


Walt  Whitman 

IN  Washington  in  war-times,  once  I  read, 
When  down  the  street  the  good  gray  poet  came  - 
A  roving  vagabond  unknown  to  fame  — 
From  watches  by  the  dying  and  the  dead, 
The  old  slouch  hat  upon  his  shaggy  head, 
His  eyes  aglow  with  earth's  immortal  flame, 
Lincoln,  who  marked  him  from  the  window  frame, 
The  judge  of  men,  the  deep-eyed  Lincoln,  said: 


What  poet  hath  juster  meed 
Whose  brazen  statue  in  the  morning  stands 
O'er  marble  avenues  of  elder  lands?  — 
In  life,  in  death,  that  was  a  man  indeed. — 
O  ye  who  'gainst  him  lift  your  righteous  hands, 
And  ye,  the  fops  that  ape  his  manhood,  heed! 


VI.    America 


Remarks 

(On  reading  of  the  Intended  sale  of  the  White  Mountains 
to  a  lumber  company.) 

*  I  *HE  nations  have  rebuked  us:    "  Greed  for  gold 

•*•     Costs  ye  voice,  vision ;  costs  ye  faith  and  fame." 
Is  this  their  envy?     Shall  we  gloss  our  shame 
Writing  it  "  Progress,"  "  enterprise  "?     Behold 
Our  civic  life  a  trade,  our  rich  men  old 
Bribing  Opinion  for  an  honest  name, 
And  art  and  letters  counted  jest  or  blame, 
When  (but  how  seldom!)  they  will  not  be  sold. 

We  traffic  with  our  birthright:  our  domain 
Of  torrents  thundering  inland  shall  be  dumb  — 
We  have  sold  our  cataracts  to  turn  our  mills; 
And  having  lifted  up  our  eyes  in  vain, 
Whence  our  help  cometh,  but  no  more  may  come, 
Now  we  would  sell  the  everlasting  hills! 


[  127  T 


Israel 

{Written  for  the  New  Immigrants'  Protective  League.) 

SINGER  of  hymns,  by  Sinai  who  adored 
The  Fire,  the  Trumpet,  the  eternal  Law; 
Builder  of  temples,  from  Zion's  hill  who  saw 
Dawn  smite  the  heathen  with  Jehovah's  sword  ; 
Exiled  of  nations,  long  for  no  reward 
Keeping  thy  Sabbaths  and  thy  Feasts  with  awe; 
Victor  of  sorrows  on  a  bed  of  straw, 
Come  unto  us,  O  Israel  of  the  Lord! 

Here,  past  the  Gentile  seas,  the  stars  by  name 
Shine  with  the  Ages'  welcome;  here  anew 
Thy  rainbow  towers;  here  the  mountains  wait. — 
Come,  and  then  fill  us  with  thine  holy  flame !  — 
We  have  a  word  to  speak,  a  work  to  do, 
If  once,  like  thine,  our  soul  be  consecrate. 


Inauguration  Ode 

ONCE  more  to  that  high  Capitol  austere, 
After  the  manner  of  our  fathers  dead, 
Once  more  to-day,  with  starry  ensign  spread, 
And  pomp  republican  of  cannoneer 
And  trump  and  wheeling  horse,  we  come  to  hear 
The  oath  of  state  and  solemnize  with  dread 
The  coronation  of  no  royal  head, 
On  this  great  morning  of  our  secular  year. 
Once  more  a  new  chief  rises  to  proclaim 
A  fixed  intent  in  first  pronouncements  bold, 
Prophet  and  pontiff  of  the  Nation's  fame, 
No  less  than  guardian  of  her  gates  and  gold, 
Naming  the  parting  Consul's  goodly  name  — 
Even  now  a  proverb,  like  the  men  of  old. 


This  festival  is  from  a  broad  decree: 
The  visionary  voice  of  wrood  and  vale, 
The  uplands  of  the  rising  star,  a  tale 
Of  hundred  rivers  in  the  midlands  free, 
Savannahs  southward  by  the  cape  and  key, 
And  northern  mountains  at  the  great  white  trail, 
And  booming  headlands  in  the  wind  and  hail, 
With  beacons,  flashing  out  to  either  sea, 
Declared  for  this.     To  making  this  Event 
Imperial  cities  half  the  world  apart, 
And  homes  on  many  a  far  horizon  went, 
With  all  of  farm  and  freehold,  mill  and  mart, 


Inauguration  Ode 

That  gives  a  multitudinous  continent 

Its  million  tasks,  its  one  unconquered  heart. 

And  now  anew,  in  jubilee  of  mind, 

Not  voluble  or  vain,  we  have  descried, 

Marshalling  to  memory  our  proofs  of  pride, 

The  inscriptions  on  the  ranged  years  behind  — 

Years  that  are  monuments  of  humankind: 

Laws,  Battles,  Voyages,  graven  large  and  wide, 

We  read,  and  Names  where  good  is  glorified; 

And  in  our  heritage  our  hope  wre  find 

For  Times  more  pure,  when,  that  swift  cleansing  done 

To  which  we  now  awake,  each  man  shall  go 

A  tribune  of  the  people  in  the  sun; 

For  Times  more  strong,  when,  arming  for  the  foe 

With  love  and  light,  we  set  the  useless  gun 

In  gardens  where  our  civic  lilies  grow. 

Nor  unto  us,  a  folk  so  wide  away 
Beyond  the  sloping  main  we  seem  to  own 
A  privacy  of  stars,  O  not  alone 
To  us  the  Pageant  and  the  Dream!  —  Fair  Day! 
God's  witness  white  to  what  we  do  and  say! 
Princes  and  parliaments  from  zone  to  zone 
Ponder  our  Cause;  and  this  thy  news  is  sown 
For  all  the  lands  to  harvest  as  they  may !  — 
All,  from  our  English  Mother,  to  the  old 
Dominions  of  the  immemorial  Nile, 

[130] 


Inauguration  Ode 

And  commonwealths  below  the  Southern  Cross, 
From  China,  shedding  her  barbaric  gold, 
To  what  remains  on  that  Sicilian  isle 
Of  ruin  and  irrevocable  loss. 

And  all  whoso,  my  Country,  do  divine 

(Dwellers  at  hand,  or  over  leagues  of  foam) 

What  we  devise  to-day  before  this  Dome, 

Know  that  the  matter  for  great  song  is  thine, 

Nor  died  with  Cassar  on  the  Palatine. 

And  the  great  singer  once  again  shall  come, 

Magnanimous  to  drive  the  meaning  home 

With  solemn  voice  and  full  sonorous  line !  — 

Some  younger  brother  of  the  pristine  blood 

Of  Milton,  the  voice  men  likened  to  the  deep, 

Who,  in  the  immortal  midday  where  he  stood, 

Beheld  the  puissant  Nation  on  the  Steep  — 

As  'twere  an  eagle  mewing  his  hardihood, 

As  'twere  a  strong  man  rousing  himself  from  sleep. 


[131] 


VII.    Five  Cities 


The  Aery  City 

(Gottingen,  Germany.) 

THE  aery  city,  temple  and  tower,  sleeps. 
O'er  the  broad  fields,  around  her  and  below, 
Lies  the  blue  waste  of  far  unfooted  snow, 
And  takes  no  shadows  from  her  walls  and  keeps. 
The  sun,  like  death,  upon  the  blank  sky  creeps, 
With  pallid  disk  of  silver,  tacit,  slow  — 
No  winds  betwixt  this  sun  and  city  blow  — 
In  adamantine  day  the  city  sleeps. 

I  pace  beside  her.     All  is  dreamy  cold. 

I  listen,  and  no  music  answers  me: 

I  name  the  lost,  the  lucid  hills  of  old, 

The  violet  banks  and  the  melodious  lea, 

The  virgin  breasts  and  sky  and  year  of  gold  — 

Mine,  ere  I  crossed  the  unreturning  sea. 


[135] 


Venice  in  Rain 

(Early  Morning.) 

THE  island  city  of  our  orient  dreams 
Sleeps  in  a  mist  from  haunted  seas,  and  gray 
Horizons  dimly  shut  her  from  the  day, 
And  rain  is  on  her  streets  and  understreams ; 
From  off  St.  Mark's  no  crimson  banner  gleams; 
No  balcony  with   floating  silk  is   gay; 
No  sails  Byzantine  dot  the  sunless  bay; 
Yet  now  a  beacon,  now  a  window  beams: 

And  by  old  marble  houses  here  and  there 
Her  gondolas  lie  moored  at  step  or  door, 
Like  barks  funereal  about  to  bear 
This  lyric  race  unto  no  earthly  shore, 
With  Titian's  painted   dames  of  russet  hair 
And  Tasso's  lute  —  away  forevermore. 


[136] 


The  White  Metropolis 

(Madlsont  Wisconsin.) 


THE  white  metropolis  of  winter  rose, 
In  icy  splendor  over  drift  and  dune, 
Midway  from  setting  sun  to  rising  moon, 
On  frosty  skies  of  gleams  and  afterglows. 
An  aery  place,  a  Venice  of  the  snows, 
With  towers  of  crystal  arabesque  and  rune, 
And  shimmering  columns  by  many  a  frore  lagoon, 
She  slumbered  in  imperial  repose. 

So  still,  so  inland  from  the  booming  seas, 
So  clear,  so  far  from  battle-smoke  or  fen, 
So  cold,  beyond  all  pestilence  and  fire  — 
A  city  with  its  own  eternities, 
Where  hate  nor  love  might  enter  in  again, 
Nor  human  cry,  nor  sorrow,  nor  desire. 


[137] 


New  York  in  Sunset 

THE  island  city  of  dominion  stands, 
Crowned  with  all  turrets,  o'er  the  waters'  crest, 
Throned,  like  the  bright  Cybele  of  the  West, 
And   hailed   with   cymbals   in   a  million   hands 
Around  her:  yet  serenely  she  commands 
The  inland  vision  and  the  ocean  quest, 
The  new-born  mistress  of  the  world's  unrest, 
The  beauty  and  the  terror  of  the  lands. 

She  sees  the  fields  of  harvest  sown  for  her, 

She  sees  the  fortress  set  beside  her  gate, 

Her  hosts,  her  ships,  she  sees  through  storm  and  fire; 

And  hers  all  gifts  of  gold  and  spice  and  myrrh, 

And  hers  all  hopes,  all  hills  and  shores  of  fate, 

And  hers  the  fame  of  Babylon  and  Tyre. 


Urbs  Triumphans 

(San  Francisco.) 

"  The  Genius  of  that  city  is  not  dead" 

I  WOKE  in  sunlight,  young  and  warm, 
And  vowed  to  give  my  dream  a  form. 
I  clove  the  cliff,  I  raised  the  stone, 
With  Orphic  music  of  mine  own, 
Till  soon  the  inviolable  thought 
To  portico  and  palm  was  wrought. — 
A  marble  city  of  the  free, 
With  gardens  at  the  western  sea! 
I  made  a  house  with  lighted  crypts 
For  mysteries  and  manuscripts; 
I  carved  a  stair  to  galleries, 
And  gave  all  men  the  brazen  keys; 
I  gave  to  Seer  and  Sayer  halls 
With  ancient  wisdom  on  the  walls; 
I  stored  a  Doric  vault  with  gold, 
As  measure  just  for  bought  and  sold; 
I  filled  for  watch  and  ward  a  dome 
With  civic  lore  of  Athens,  Rome; 
I  struck  the  lyre  with  unbound  hair; 
I  fostered  rites  of  praise  and  prayer. 
And  East  across  her  mountains  brought 
Devices  of  her  sturdy  thought, 
From  rattling  loom  a  flag  with  stars, 
From  flaming  forges  scimitars; 
And  West  from  island  shore  to  this 

[139] 


Urbs  Triumphans 

Sent  quaint  perfumes  and  artifice, 

In  bamboo  dwellings  multiplied 

By  white-robed  Buddhists  almond-eyed. 


But  ere  the  morning  moon's  eclipse 
In  seas,  beyond  the  homing  ships, 
Earth  smote  my  beauty,  and  my  towers 
In  flame  were  withered  with  my  flowers; 
And   o'er   the  dread   reverberations 
Red  rose  the  silent  sun  of  nations. 
Then  kings  on  far  pavilioned  slopes 
In  starlight  asked  new  horoscopes; 
Then  sullen  priests,  with  hand  to  eyes, 
Muttered  the  Sibyl's  old  replies; 
Then  islands  and  dominions  proud 
In  litanies  of  terror  prayed; 
And  hid  within  the  fiery  cloud, 
I  only  was  the  Unafraid. 

Could  earth  be  one  with  my  desire?  — 
Earth,  sprung  from  zones  of  solar  fire! 
She  plants  a  vale  with  fern  and  tree, 
And  sinks  it  down  the  sunless  sea; 
She  hangs  the  crags  with  vine  and  branch, 
And  shatters  with  the  avalanche; 
She  wreathes  her  brow,  she  rends  her  breast, 
She  knows  no  worst,  she  seeks  no  best. 
[140] 


Urbs  Triumphans 

She  claimed  the  form,  but  the  design 
Was,  is,  and  is  forever  mine! 

lehold  in  Java  and  Ceylon 
The  silent  ages  slumber  on. 
Their  jungles,  where  the  tiger  crawls 
By  sultry  moonlit  waterfalls, 
Hide  rained  palaces  and  halls  — 
Huge   cities,   dim,    grotesque,   and   damp, 
Where  ebon  door  and  ivory  lamp 
Had  mocked  the  lightning  and  the  rain 
Ere  Tyrian  trader  coasted   Spain. 
They  perished  by  their  soma  bowls; 
They  left  no  hieroglyphs  or  scrolls ; 
Their  names  are  lost,  and  legends  tell 
The  earthquake  smote  them  and  they  fell. 

But  in  my  larger  towers  to  be 

The  bells  will  shout  with  brazen  lips 

To  cities  over  land  and  sea 

A  jubilant  apocalypse! 

And  o'er  my  gates  shall  stand  the  line, 

By  my  imperial  decree: 

"  /  am  a  Symbol  and  a  Sign, 

'A  Witness  and  a  Prophecy'' 


[141] 


VIII.    The  Unjust  .  .  . 


Prefatory 

LET  no  man  carve  upon  my  monument, 
Thinking  to  honor  what  he  loved  of  me, 
When  I  shall  rest:     "  He  had  no  enemy  " — 

0  not  to  this,  believe  me,  was  I  sent; 
Even  as  I  labor  with  my  own  intent 
For  sun  and  stars  and  earth's  security, 

1  get  myself  good  haters  —  let  them  be: 
Carve  not  this  slander  on  my  monument. 

"  Nay,"  but  I  seem  to  hear  my  friends  protest, 

Who,  though  for  me  still  ready  to  combat, 

So  often  are  given  to  untimely  jest, 

"  We,  who  have  known  the  breed  you're  railing  at 

And  found  you  most  yourself  when  angriest, 

Will  spare  you  any  pleasantry  like  that." 


EMS] 


Mein  Tischgenosse 

THAT  head  close-cropped  as  bowl  or  cannon-ball, 
The  snub-nose  and  the  smirk  of  a  mustache, 
The  puffy  cheek,  seamed  with  a  villain  gash 
Got  in  a  duel  with  a  corporal, 
That  speckled  vest,  the  ring  upon  the  small 
Left  finger,  where  the  ruby  used  to  flash, 
That  air  of  "  ladies-I-possess-the-cash," 
That  tone  of  "  gentlemen-I-know-it-all  " — 

My  long  lost  enemy !  —  O  how  we'd  glare 

Across  the  table  in  the  dear  old  days, 

When  cherries  ripened  in  the  German  air, 

And  through  the  window  shone  the  summer  haze, 

While  Fraeulein  Emma  sat  between  us  there 

And   served  demurely  Leberwurst  and  Kaes*. 


The  Editor 

I  MET  you  first,  when  once  for  livelihood 
I  roamed  Broadway,  a  vagrant  from  the  boat, 
A  song  of  life  for  sale  within  my  coat, 
My  soul  on  fire  for  all  things  large  and  good; 
And  there  before  your  desk  of  walnut  wood 
With  wide-spread  shanks  you  smoked  your  pipe  and 

wrote 

One  of  those  quips  the  smart  set  loves  to  quote, 
And  looking  round  leered  at  me  where  I  stood, 
A  dreamer  and  a  lover.  .  .  . 

I  marked  your  beard, 

Frizzled  and  brown,  your  cold  gray  eyes,  the  tone 
That  meant  "  I  rate  men  merely  as  the  herd 
May  serve  my  turn  —  what  is  it  ?  "     As  one  reared 
Among  the  mountains,  conscious  of  mine  own, 
I  bowed  and  went  my  ways  without  a  word. 


A  Hypocrite 

YOUR  sleek  hypocrisy  in  white  cravat 
May  cheat  your  grocer  on  his  office  stool, 
Your  oily  accents,  plausible  and  cool, 
May  please  your  widowed  tenant  and  her  cat; 
And  pompous  pride,  in  broadcloth,  fed  and  fat, 
May  seem  an  oracle  in  Sunday  school  — 
And  yet  I  know  you  both  for  knave  and  fool; 
So  spare  your  grinning  and  put  on  your  hat. 

Eternity   itself  were  scarce   enough 
To  learn  a  true  man's  quality,  were  he 
Still  but  the  humblest  of  a  peasant  stripe; 
But  the  poor  tinsel  of  your  proper  stuff 
I  mark,  established  artist  though  you  be, 
With  one  glance  sideways  as  I  fill  my  pipe. 


In  College  Days 

TWELVE  years  ago.     And  can  hate  work  so  long, 
Through  seasons  of  so  many  a  star  and  flower, 
So  many  a  mountain  day  and  ocean  hour, 
So  many  friends  who  gave  me  song  for  song? 
Twelve    years    ago.     Though    life    with    splendors 

throng, 

That  youth  of  sallow  skin  and  visage  sour  — 
My  first  encounter  with  the  evil  power  — 
Is  still  the  slanderer  who  did  me  wrong. 

Yet  my  old  hate  is  but  the  poet's  hate 
Even  for  the  ideal  villain  of  the  mind  — 
The  mind  alert  forever  to  create 
Its  perfect  type  from  every  form  it  find  — 
The  man  himself  could  enter  at  my  gate 
Like  any  stranger  with  his  dog  behind. 


[149] 


The  Insulting  Letter 

THANKS  for  that  insult. —  I  had  too  much  peace 
In  the  stone  tavern  down  in  yonder  vale 
For  a  brief  space  too  much  of  cakes  and  ale, 
Too  much  of  laughter.     An  ignoble  ease 
Had  lured  me  from  my  vows  and  destinies. 
I  had  forgot  the  torrent  and  the  gale, 
The  cliff,  the  sunrise,  and  the  forest  trail, 
And  how  I  throve  by  nature  but  with  these. 

Thanks  for  that  insult. —  For  it  was  your  pen 
Stirred  the  old  blood  and  made  me  man  again. 
And  crushing  your  letter  with  all  thought  of  you, 
Inviolate  will  and  fiery  dream,  I  rose; 
Struck  for  the  mountains,  put  my  business  through, 
And  stood  victorious  over  larger  foes. 


[150] 


My  Defense 

WHEN  Fate  trod  madly  on  my  garden  bed 
And  took  her  from  me  in  the  early  May, 
Just  as  she  tucked  the  living  seeds  away 
With  those  deft  fingers,  kneeling  near  the  shed, 
'Twas  not  enough  that  I  should  see  her  dead 
And  my  house  shattered ;  not  enough  —  but  they 
Who  hate  my  sort  found  villain  things  to  say 
And  mantled  me  with  slander  where  I  bled. 

But  my  defense,  who  saw  and  judged  the  whole, 
Because  she  loved  my  passionate  sad  soul, 
And  deeper  purport  of  my  larger  aim, 
Spoke  from  those  Places  that  the  world  denies  — 
Those  Incommensurables  with  sea  and  skies  — 
"  They  cannot  harm  you :  I  am  still  the  same." 


The  Laird  of  Leith 
(r.  L.  D.,  1904.} 

MEN  say,  who  heard  him  in  the  gardens  read, 
"  Quaint    connoisseur    of    verse    and    jest    and 
flower, 

And  courtly  and  patient  in  the  evil  hour, 
This  was  a  goodly  gentleman  indeed." 
But  I,  who  kept  the  house  and  from  his  greed 
Hungered  lean  years  on  second-best  and  sour, 
And  mixed  the  drink  that  gave  him  speech  and  power, 
Through  all  the  soul  that's  left  me  break  and  bleed: 

Not  for  myself;  but  for  the  city's  just, — 
Each  kindly  heart  that  struggles  in  the  face, 
Each  honest  hand  that  points,  or  voice  that  sings; 
For  when  a  hard  man's  laid  away  in  dust, 
Such  praise  is  to  the  praisers  their  disgrace, 
And  one  more  outrage  to  the  higher  things. 


Epilogue 

READING  my  words,  where  stands  incorporate 
For  good  or  ill  —  as  rough-hewn  marble  bust 
With  shadow  sprawling  in  the  workshop's  dust  — 
Each  solid  visage  of  the  souls  I  hate, 
Whom  next  (I  asked  myself)  to  contemplate, 
From  somber  memories  of  old  disgust? 
But  these  were  all;  and  beautiful  and  just 
Rose  in  the  soul  of  me  my  good  and  great. 

Indeed,  what  men  and  women  have  I  known 
In  my  long  journeys  for  the  truth  of  things! 
What  sweet  musicians  and  what  bards  full-grown, 
What  sturdy  husbandmen  at  harvestings !  — 
And  city  by  city  with  a  voice  its  own 
Hailing  the  sunrise  and  the  King  of  kings! 


[153] 


IX.  ,  and  the  Just 


A  Dedication 

(For  a  privately  printed  collection  of  verse.) 

YE  gave  me  life  and  will  for  life  to  crave: 
Desires  for  mighty  suns,  or  high,  or  low, 
For  moons  mysterious  over  cliffs  of  snow, 
For  the  wild  foam  upon  the  midsea  wave; 
Swift  joy  in  freeman,  swift  contempt  for  slave; 
Thought  which  would  bind  and  name  the  stars  and 

know; 

Passion  that  chastened  in  mine  overthrow; 
And  speech,  to  justify  my  life,  ye  gave. 

Life  of  my  life,  this  late  return  of  song 

I  give  to  you  before  the  close  of  day ; 

Life  of  your  life!  which  everlasting  wrong 

Shall  have  no  power  to  baffle  or  betray, 

O  father,  mother !  —  for  ye  watched  so  long, 

Ye  loved  so  long,  and  I  was  far  away. 


[157] 


With  Some  Manuscript  Poems 

(7*o  Lud'wig  Leuuisokn.) 

THIS  charge  to  thee.     Because  I  hold  thee  free 
On  stream  or  mount  or  at  the  temple's  base, 
As  one  not  wavering  to  pride  in  place, 
To  brazen   trumpet  or  to   golden   fee, 
As  one  who  in  the  pools  of  life  can  see 
Still  somewhat  of  old  dignity  and  grace, 
Still  somewhat  of  the  bright  reflected  face 
Of  cloud  or  sky  or  moon,  this  charge  to  thee: 

I  fear  the  pest  of  all-involving  night, 
I  fear  the  fumes  that,  gathering  round  my  head, 
May  choke  to  silence  the  one  word  of  might 
Life  laid  upon  me:  comrade,  I  am  dead  — 
Thou  livest,  report  me  and  my  cause  aright, 
And  lay  for  love  a  laurel  on  my  bed. 


[158] 


The  Sculptor 

(For  R.  T.  M.) 

I  WROUGHT  unaided,  save 
By  wind  and  wood  and  wave, 
And  night  and  Mars  the  red, 
And  poets  dead. 

No  man  from  sun  to  sun, 
Seeing  me,  said,  "  Well  done  " ; 
No  woman  smiled  and  chose 
For  me  a  rose. 

But  thus  my  arm  at  length 
Did  win  a  silent  strength  — 
Thus  here  the  statue  stands 
For  all  the  lands. 


[159] 


A  Presentation 

(To  W.  R.  N.,  with  "Fragments  of  Empedodes  In  English 
Verse.") 

IN  my  last  winter  by  Atlantic  seas, 
How  often,  when  the  long  day's  task  was  through, 
I  found  in  nights  of  friendliness  with  you 
The  quiet  corner  of  the  scholar's  ease, 
While  you  explored  the  Orphic  liturgies, 
Or  old  Pythagoras'  mystic  One  and  Two, 
Or  heartened  me  with  Plato's  larger  view, 
Or  the  world-epic  of  Empedocles: 

It  cost  you  little;  but  such  things  as  these, 
When  man  goes  inland  following  his  star, 
When  man  goes  inland  where  the  strangers  are, 
Build  him  a  house  of  goodly  memories: 
So  take  this  book  in  token,  and  rejoice 
That  I  am  richer  having  heard  your  voice. 


[160] 


In  Reply 

(To  G.  S.  V.) 

I  PONDERED  how  to  answer  gift  with  gift  — 
Your  amber  vellum  with  some  book  of  gold 
In  crimson  letters,  that  for  you  should  hold 
Meet  harvest  of  some  elder  poet's  thrift  — 
And  heart  beat  wildly,  and  my  soul  did  drift 
Up  life's  dim  eddies  to  the  days  of  old, 
When  we  together,   wandering  passion-souled, 
Saw  round  the  Mountain  cloud  and  tempest  lift, 
Showing  the  Sungod  and  the  Lyre. 

And    then 

The  distant  magic  of  your  verse  I  heard 
Louder,  and  marked  strange  visions  far  and  wide, 
And,    as   one   rapt   beyond   the   light   of   men, 
I  murmured    (altering  a  familiar  word), 
"  The  marvelous  boy  who  conquered  in  his  pride." 


[161] 


Invitation 

(For  G .) 

COME,  voyage  with  me!     Somewhere  in  ocean  day 
The  porpoise  bound  from  wave  to  wave  away! 
And  in  the  sun  the  distant  sail  we'll  see, 
Guess  what  its  lading,  what  its  port  may  be; 
And  when  the  twilight  purples  in  the  blast, 
And  the  red  lamp  is  hoisted  up  the  mast, 
How  bright  our  visions,  our  desires  how  free! 
O  sweet  my  lady,  overseas  with  me ! 

Over  the  seas  there  is  a  golden  hall 
Where  some  old  king  set  pictures  on  the  wall ; 
Through  the  arched  hangings  in  the  door,  I  saw 
The  robed  Hidalgo  and  the  Cardinal. 

There  reels  the  Bacchus  with  his  cloven  crew; 

Diana  bathes,  Acteon's  hounds  pursue ; 

The  comely  damsels,  seen  by  Veronese, 

Will  drink  the  wondrous  wine  the  Saviour  drew. 

And  overseas  are  gardens  of  delight; 
There  antique  urns,  so  still  and  cool  and  white, 
And  a  carved  Venus  on  a  scolloped  shell, 
Gleam  in  the  moon  of  blue  Italian  night. 

There  the  tall  cypress  on  the  terrace  looms 
O'er  shadowy  roses  of  old-world  perfumes, 


Invitation 

And  down  the  marble  steps,  by  Tiber's  reeds, 
The  fireflies  dart  among  the  Roman  tombs. 

And  overseas  an  inland  lake  there  lies, 
Where  by  a  castle,  under  mountain  skies, 
Sails  the  slant  shallop,  with  the  one  white  wing, 
On  waters  bluer  than  a  mother's  eyes. 

There  slope  the  vineyards  in  autumnal  peace 
Where  loved  and  lingered  the  New  Heloise, 
And  the  far  Alps  are  touched  with  rose,  and  day 
Dies,  and  the  mellow  Angelus  will  cease. 

Thither,  O  thither!  and  in  the  nights  between 
We'll  watch  the  stars  upon  the  deck  unseen, 
Trace  their  designs  with  finger  —  thus  and  so  — 
In  ancient  legends  telling  what  they  mean, 
And  think  how  once  the  same  stars  long  ago 
Guided  Ulysses  to  his  island  queen. 


Cl63] 


Lady,  Not  Mine 

(For  E .) 

LADY,  not  mine  the  courtier's  gracious  part 
To  kiss  thy  hand  in  hall  when  lamps  are  hung, 
And,  with  a  poised  address  and  ready  tongue, 
Speak  as  befits  thy  gentle  birth  and  heart; 
Nor  mine  to  linger  when  the  guests  depart 
And  offer,  after  every  song  is  sung, 
The  delicate  verse  that  names  thee  fair  and  young, 
Sweet  rose  of  ladies,  lady,  as  thou  art: 

But  were  we  met  in  such  a  spot,  I'd  say: 

"  Come,  let  us  take  the  moonlit  marble  way ; 

The  nightingale  is  in  the  cypress  tree; 

And  past  the  terrace  the  stream  glides  on  to  sea; 

And  when  beyond  the  dim  hills  dawns  the  day, 

The  morning  star  shall  sing  my  song  to  thee." 


[164] 


The  Phantom  Child 

WHERE'ER  I  go,  in  flowers  or  snow, 
In  spring  or  winter  tide, 
Through  cities  builded  long  ago, 
O'er  prairies  waste  and  wide, 
A  sweet,  a  wild,  a  phantom  child 
Goes  ever  at  my  side. 

The  sunlight  in  her  hair  that  lies 
Seems  borne  from  o'er  the  sea, 
There  is  a  token  in  her  eyes 
Of  skies  that  used  to  be 
(The  violet  dyes  of  summer  skies), 
When  she  looks  up  at  me. 

She  laughs  as  one  untouched  by  fears, 

She  laughs  and  takes  my  hand, 

She  wanders  with  me  through  the  years 

And  on  from  land  to  land, 

But  yet  she  cannot  see  my  tears, 

Nor  would  she  understand. 

She  takes  my  hand;  she  sees  me  still 

The  laughing  lad  of  old, 

She  thinks  we  wander  on  the  hill 

In  plots  of  white  and  gold, 

She  stops  to  hear  the  whippoorwill 

In  woodlands  dusk  and  cold. 


[165] 


The  Phantom  Child 

And  though  I  know  our  hills  are  far 

And  oceans  ebb  and  flow, 

I  have  no  music,  mirth,  nor  star 

Whose  grace  I  cherish  so  — 

A  memory  that  no  sin  can  mar 

Nor  sorrow  overthrow. 


[166] 


New  York  Days 

(To  Ludwig  Leiuisohn.) 


'T 


IS   something  for   a  poet's   lip  — 
Our  memorable  comradeship. 


The  Empire  City  of  the  isle 
Threw  down  on  us  her  awful  smile. 
"  My  fate  be  on  you,"  said  the  Voice; 
"  Aspire,  and  if  you  can,   rejoice.  .  .  ." 

We  entered,  through  a  portico, 
By  ample  steps  that  flanged  below, 
A  dome  supreme  and  luminous, 
But  housing  statues  not  for  us; 
And  sullen  made  o'er  marble  tile 
Dumb  exit  through  the  brazen  stile: 
The  college  of  the  liberal  arts 
Was  not  the  college  of  our  hearts  — 
We  had  some  other  ends  to  win.  .  .  . 

We  saw  the  iron  ships  come  in 

From  Brooklyn  Bridge,  the  civic  towers 

That  loomed  too  large  for  earth  of  ours, 

The  pits  between,  the  smoky  pall, 

The  stony  shadows  vertical 

Aslant  up  many  a  windowed  wall.  .  .  . 

I've  read  that  in  the  Middle  Age, 

When   Dante  made  his  pilgrimage, 

[167] 


New  York  Days 

Each  Tuscan  baron,  born  to  feud, 
Who  housed  in  city  walls  imbued 
With  blood  of  Ghibelline  and  Guelf, 
Built  a  high  watch-tower  for  himself, 
And  travelers  over  Alps  looked  down 
On  many  a  grim  imperial  town 
That  rose  in  rugged  silhouette 
Of  parapet  by  parapet 
Without  a  spire,  a  tree,  a  home  — 
'Twas  thus  with  Pisa,  Florence,  Rome. 
But  here  it  seemed  some  giant  broods 
Had  raised  the  bulwarks  of  their  feuds 
And  mastered  Titan  altitudes! 

We  wratched  on  slopes  of  Morningside 
Broad  Hudson  wrestling  with  the  tide, 
Or  from   the  granite  balustrades 
The  sunset  o'er  the  Palisades, 
Where  glowed  the  Cosmos  in  the  west, 
Like  lightning  flashes  made  to  rest 
And  lie  an  hour  manifest.  .  .  . 

We  passed  in  moonlight  down  the  malls 
Beneath  the  dusky  citadels; 
We  wound  from  curve  to  curve  in  cars 
On  lofty  girders  under  stars; 
We  drank  in  music-halls,  aflame 
With  lantern  green  and  scarlet  dame; 
[168] 


New  York  Days 

And  held,  where  passion  most  was  rife, 
Our  fevered  talk  of  human  life.  .  .  . 

And  through  the  snow,  the  wind,  the  gloom, 

We  journeyed  to  each  other's  room, 

In  those  lamp-lit  aerial  crypts, 

Piled  with  our  books  and  manuscripts  — 

So  far  above  the  flash  and  roar 

We  seemed  encaved  forevermore 

Upon  some  cliff  or  mountain  shore; 

We  read  in  bardic  ecstasies 

Catullus  or  Simonides, 

Or  chanted  verses  of  our  own 

In  slow  sonorous  monotone, 

That  sometimes  clove  so  true  and  free, 

To  us  'twas  immortality; 

We  shared  the  agony  of  tears 

Pierced  by  the  ignominious  years, 

And  times  there  were  when  we  were  three, 

But  late  it  grows  and  where  is  he? 

And  I  long  since  was  inland  driven 
To  climb  the  hills  of  God  as  given, 
While  you  again  are  by  those  seas 
With  more  of  vision,  power,  peace. 
We  overcame.     But  'twas  the  press 
Of  no  ignoble  restlessness  — 
Outside  the  law  yet  not  outside, 

[169] 


New  York  Days 

By  austere  issues  justified, 

And  justified,  were  all  else  vain, 

By  brotherhood  of  song  and  pain, 


[170] 


To  Friends 

THESE  verses  to  my  friends:  for  scattered  far 
In  many  a  land,   O   friends  of  mine,   ye  are. 
Do  ye  remember,  too?     O  ye  who  hear 
White  Mountain  echoes  all  the  northern  year, 
And  ye  who  see  snowfields  of  cotton-boll 
In  Carolinas,  and  ye  twain  who  cull 
The  poppies  on  Italian  fields  and  seize 
Those  golden  sunsets  for  Rome's  galleries, 
Do  ye  remember?     Ye  of  Lac  de  Geneve, 
Between  blue  Jura  and  our  own  Saleve, 
Do  ye  remember,  Franks  of  Switzerland? 
And  ye  in  utmost  Moscow,  with  the  hand 
Secret  and  steady  for  that  freedom  yet 
Ye  swore  at  Gottingen,  do  ye  forget? 
And  ye  beneath  the  Drachenfels  am  Rhein, 
Where  books  and  wine  and  song  and  mellow  shine 
Of  quiet  suns  made  life  almost  divine, 
And  Fatherland,  true  Fatherland  of  mine? 
And  ye  who  walk  the  cities  of  the  West, 
And  feel  alone  the  teeming  world's  unrest, 
Once  felt  together  —  and  thou,  too,  tried  and  brave, 
Who  scatterest  violets  on  an  English  grave, 
Dost  thou  remember? 

The  same  stars  arise 
All  round  the  earth  but  lead  us  otherwise. 


1 170 


In  Memoriam 

(Borden  P.  Bowne.) 

THE   gates  of  time  swing  to:  our  wisest  head, 
Our  soundest  heart,  our  loftiest  soul   is  dead. 
But  death  like  this,  crowning  a  long  success, 
Gives  exaltation  to  our  helplessness, 
Repeating,   louder  than   all  vain   lament, 
'Gainst   death  itself   the  one   great   argument  — 
Even  this:  a  man  so  disciplined  in  truth, 
In   freedom,  labor,  courtesy,  and  ruth, 
So  disciplined,  amid  earth's  age-old  wars, 
To  see  even  here  the  light  of  all  the  stars, 
Must  be,  wherever  God  will  have  him  come, 
With  the  eternal  anywhere  at  home. 


X.    Translation  and  Paraphrase 


The  Creation  of  the  Morrow 

(From  the  Sanscrit.) 


"V^AMA   was   gone.     The    gods   consoling   said: 

"  O  weep  not,  Yami,"  and  they  raised  her  head  ; 
But  "  Yama  is  gone,  he  will  not  come  again," 
She  murmured  nor  would  yet  be  comforted. 

Then  mused  the  gods:  "She  weeps,  remembering  still 
Their  sleeps  and  kisses  on  the  purple  hill  _ 
Let  us  create  the  night."—  The  night  was  born 
With  starry  shades  and  winds  invisible. 

So  came  the  morrow  that  ere  then  was  not, 
And  many  morrows  —  Yami  left  her  cot, 
And  played  with  flowers  on  the  mead  in  mirth, 
Tossing  them  idly.     Yama  was  forgot. 


[175] 


Heraclitus,  the  Obscure  l 

{For  W.  R.  N.) 

I. 

SAID  Heraclitus  on  the  palace  steps, 
Beholding  wide:  "  Ephesians,  ye  are  mad; 
Ye  feed  like  cattle,  hearing  no  strange  sound; 
Ye  crawl  like  blind-worms,  seeing  not  a  light 
And  a  far  flame;  ye  sleep,  wine-drenched  and  dull, 
And  know  the  Logos  not.     The  Eternal   Law, 
The  Weaver  of  night  and  day,  and  body  and  soul, 
Ye  will  not  know;  although  each  son  of  man 
For  that  same  Law  shall  fight,  as  for  a  wall, 
And  yield  no  foot.     What  few  have  lit  a  lamp, 
In  the  dark  night  they  wander  and  damp  fields, 
And  turn  much  earth  and  scatter  sod  and  sand, 
Grubbing  for  fools'  gold,  while  the  lamp  goes  out 
And  they  are  wide  from  house.     For  vain  are  eyes 
Unto  barbaric  souls. 

"Mad   folk,   mad    folk! 
Along  the  highways,   after  olden   use, 
Reel  the  crazed  votaries  with  the  phallos  raised 
And  Dionysos  hail!  and  obscene  girls 
Uncloak  their  lust  unshamed.     Ye  kneel  and  beg 
A  gift  of  some  vile  stone  ye  name  a  god  — 
Zeus,  Aphrodite,  Here,  Artemis  — 

1  Based  upon  the  Fragments,  but  the  historical  Heraclitus 
was  a  Basileus,  not  a  King. 

[176] 


Heraclitus,  the  Obscure 

But  hear  no  thunder,  see  no  moon.     Ye  lave 
Your  crimes  of  blood  with  steaming  blood  away  — 
Lustration  wise  as  who  has  fouled  his  hands 
With  the  green  dung  should  lave  his  hands  with  dung 
And   deem  him  clean! 

"  Mad  folk !  and  how  ye  bark, 
Like  hounds,  at  me  ye  know  not.     As  the  shag 
And  lap-eared  ass,  blinking  between  the  gold 
And  yellowish  chaff,  ye  take  the  chafE  at  last  — 
Twelve  thousand  of  ye  value  not  one  good  — 
And  shall  I  rest  the  king  of  such  as  ye, 
Speaking  a  Law  no  king  yet  ever  spake, 
Ye  comprehending  not?  —  There  lie  my  robes 
For  who  may  find  them.     Naked  as  the  night 
I  will  go  forth,  I  will  return  no  more." 

And  so  he  passed  to  where  the  tropic  hills 
Stood  blue  behind  the  city,  and  the  tides 
Swept  long  unfooted  sands  beyond  the  walls. 

II. 

Said  Heraclitus  standing  by  the  sea, 
Beholding  wide :  "  The  Law  shall  not  be  lost. 
The  fire  descends  from  heaven  upon  the  sea, 
Then  from  the  sea  whirls  up  the  water-spout, 
Mixed  with  black  rolling  thunder  and  quick  flame, 
To  heaven   again.     So   fire   to   water,   water  to  fire 
wends, 

[177] 


Heraclitus,  the  Obscure 

And  water  unto  earth.     Lo,  all  things  change, 
But  though  none  know  the  Law  shall  not  be  lost. 

"  Bathe,  laughing  children,  in  Cayster  stream, 
Under  hot  day;  ye  bathe  O  never  again 
In  this  same  stream,  which  yet  is  not  the  same; 
For  all  things  flow,  for  all  things  flow  forever, 
And  though  none  know  the  Law  shall  not  be  lost. 

"  The  sea-fish  shoal  about  the  headland  rocks 

Deep  in  blue  water;  but  those  I  enticed 

Out  to  the  air  are  dead  on  the  salt  grass ; 

And  men  whose  white  sails  lured  them  to  the  main 

Lie  still  below  and  sea-weeds  wrap  their  skulls. 

The  sunbright  day  reeks  foul  with  purplish  death, 

The  brack  and  deadly  ocean  teems  with  life; 

Each  element  to  each  and  after  his  kind, 

But  though  none  know  the  Law  shall  not  be  lost. 

"  I  hear  far  battles  hid  beyond  the  clouds 
That  float  on  the  western  waves  —  there  is  new  war 
Somewhere  on  coast  or  plain;  but  all  is  war; 
The  father  of  all,  the  king  of  all  is  war; 
And  some  he  makes  to  gods  and  some  to  men, 
Some  slaves,  some  free,  creating,  slaying  all. 
Lo,  peace  is  strife,  and  strife  is  peace  forever. 
Man  dies  his  life  and  lives  his  death  each  day, 
But  though  none  know  the  Law  shall  not  be  lost. 

[178] 


Heraclitus,  the  Obscure 

"  Only  the  Rhythm,  only  the  Law  abides. 
The  Pendulum  that  measures  life  and  death, 
And  all  the  forms  of  fire,  swings  unchanged 
Under  the  Law,  which  will  be  called  high  Zeus, 
And  yet  will  not  (for  'tis  above  all  men, 
But  all  gods  too).  .  .  .  And  day  and  night  return, 
Winter  and  summer,  autumn  and  spring  return, 
And  the  world-aeons  of  fire-death  and  -birth. 
And  though  none  know  the  Law  shall  not  be  lost. 

"  For  I  will  speak.     The  Sibyl,  wild  and  shunned, 
Endures  in  memories  of  a  thousand  years  — 
Though  all  her  words  were  turbulent  and  dark, 
Endureth  she,  for  through  her  speaks  the  god." 

III. 

Far  from  the  city  deep  in  autumn  night 
He  laid  his  scroll  in  shrine  of  Artemis  — 
Where  strangers  found  it  after  many  years. 


[179] 


Achilles  and  Athene 

(A  Picture  from  the  Iliad.) 

WHEN  Wrath  had  got  the  heart  of  Thetis'  son 
And  toward  the  bench,  where  Agamemnon 
sate, 

With  glaring  eye  and  shaggy  breast  dilate, 
He  made,  his  hand  on  hilt,  to  slay  anon 
The  King  of  men  for  Briseis,  dearly  won 
And  darkly  threatened,  thus  to  close  debate, 
The  white-armed  Here,  from  Olympus  gate, 
Sent  down  Athene:  there  she  stood  and  none 
Beheld,  save  only  swift  Achilles;  there 
She  placed  her  fingers  on  his  yellow  hair, 
And  as  he  turned,  astonished,  to  upbraid, 
"Put  up  thy  sword,"  she  chided,  "  and  forbear.'* 
And  Thetis'  son  was  silent  and  obeyed, 
Holding  the  promise  of  a  goddess'  care. 


[180] 


A  Home-Coming  Long  Ago 

(Catullus,  XX XL) 

OMY  gem  of  almost-islands  and  of  islands,  Sir- 
mio, 

Whatsoever,  wheresoever  lucid  inland  waters  flow, 
Wheresoever  out  in  ocean  sun  may  shine  or  wind  may 

blow! 

O  how  gladly,  O  how  madly  I  rejoice  again  to  be 
(After  all  the  Asian  lowlands  wandered  over  wearily) 
Here  at  last,  my  little  island,  safe  at  last  with  home 

and  thee! 
What  so  dear  as  cares  completed  when  the  mind  lays 

down  the  load, 
And  the  way-worn  feet  that  wandered  take  again  the 

homeward  road; 
And  upon  the  bed  we  longed  for  we  can  go  to  sleep 

again  — 

O  alone  reward  enough  for  all  the  labor,  all  the  pain! 
Hail,  my  Sirmio,  the  lovely,  greet  your  master  and  be 

gay; 

Greet   him,   all  ye   Lydian   billows,   plashing  up  the 

sands  at  play  — 
With  your  laughter  greet  Catullus,  back  again  with 

you  to-day. 


A  Roman  Pleasantry 

(Catullus,  XXVI.) 


"V^OUR   country-house   is   not   exposed 

•*•        To  any  blustering  gale  — 
But,  since  your  mortgagees  foreclosed, 

It's  now  exposed  for  sale: 
And  this  exposure,  none  can  doubt, 
Is  likely,  friend,  to  freeze  you  out. 


[182] 


The  Sail 

(From  the  Russian.) 

WHITE   gleams  the  lone  sail   far  from  shore 
In  purple  mists  and  boundless  wind; 
What  seeketh  she  in  lands  before? 
What  has  she  left  in  homes  behind? 

The  foam  is  thrown  about  her  prow, 
Her  bending  mast  is  beat  with  spray; 
But  ah,  no  hope  she  seeketh  now, 
And  from  no  hope  she  rides  away. 

Beneath,  blue  streams  of  ocean  lea; 
Above,  blue  day  in  east  and  west  — 
But  for  the  wild  storm  yearneth  she, 
As  if  amid  the  storm  were  rest. 


Buddha 

(From  the  German  of  Arno  Holx.) 

BY  night  around  my  temple  grove 
watch   seventy   brazen   cows. 
A  thousand  mottled  stone  lampions  flicker. 

Upon  a  red  throne  of  lac 
I  sit  in  the  Holy  of  Holies. 

Over  me 

through  the  beams  of  sandalwood, 
in  the  ceiling's  open  square, 
stand  the  stars. 

I  blink. 

Were  I  now  to  rise  up, 
my  ivory  shoulders  would  splinter  the  roof, 
and  the  oval  diamond  upon  my  brow 
would  stave  in  the  moon. 

The  chubby  priests  may  snore  away. 

I  rise  not  up. 

I  sit  with  legs  crossed  under 
and  observe  my  navel. 

It  is  a  blood  red  ruby 

in  a  naked  belly  of  gold. 


Choice 

(From  the  Norwegian  of  Bjornson.) 

MY  choice  be  April,  then, 
In  which  departs  the  old, 
In  which  the  new  takes  hold, 
With  hubbub  round  again  — 
For  peace  is  not  the  best, 
But  doing  things  with  zest. 

My  choice  be  April,  then, 
Because  it  storms  and  sweeps, 
Because  it  smiles  and  weeps, 
And  owns  the  strength  of  ten  — 
Because  it  stirs  the  powers 
Whence  summer  and  its  flowers. 


£185] 


The  Ideal 

(From  du  Bellay.) 

IF  this  our  life  be  briefer  than  a  morn 
In  the  eternal,  and  the  years  drive  hence 
The  unreturning  days  without  defense, 
And  perishable  be  all  things  ever  born, 
What   weenest,    soul,    imprisoned    and    forlorn  ?  - 
In  these  bleak  regions  where  were  joy  and  whence  ?- 
When   for  thy  voyaging  to  the  bright  Intense 
Thou  hast  the  wings,  the  lovely,  the  unshorn! 

There  is  the  good  which  each  good  man  desires, 
The  rest  to  which  the  unresting  world  aspires, 
The  lyric  love  that  wipeth  every  tear; 
And  there  the  soul  before  the  great  white  throne 
The  immortal  beauty  shall  behold  and  own, 
Whose  voice  and  shadow  it  had  worshiped  here. 


[186] 


Rondeau 

DU  temps  que  }'etait  belle:  I  dreamed  of  late 
That  you  were  old,  Marie,  and  by  the  grate, 
With  book  and  eyelids  closed,  you  said  the  rhymes 
That  took  you  back  to  Paris  and  the  chimes 
Of  Montmorenci  and  the  garden  gate. 

How  old,  how  old,  Marie:  my  lady  sate 
As  wan  and  withered  as  the  eldest  Fate, 
And  crooned,  "  He  sang  to  me  in  other  times  — 
Du  temps  que  fetait  belle" 

And  when  I  woke,  I  woke  no  more  in  hate: 
I  heard  the  oriole  singing  to  his  mate, 
I  saw  the  plumed  castanias  and  limes, 
And  morn's  horizon  binding  all  the  climes, 
And  knew  no  words  of  death  more  desolate  — 
Du  temps  que  fetalt  belle. 


Mignon 

(For  Helen.) 

KNOW'ST  thou  the  land  where  bloom  the  citron 
rows, 

In  dusky  leaves  the  golden  orange  glows, 
And  soft  a  wind  is  borne  from  bluest  sky, 
And  stands  the  myrtle  still,  the  laurel  high? 
Know'st  thou  it  well  ?  — 

O  there,  O  there 
Would  I  with  thee,  O  my  beloved,  fare ! 

Know'st  thou  the  house?     On  pillars  rest  the  beams; 
The  hall  it  shines;  the  shimmering  room  ft  gleams; 
And  marble  statues  stand  and  look  at  me  — 
(What  have  men  done,  O  my  poor  child,  to  thee!)  — 
Know'st  thou  it  well?  — 

O  there,  O  there 
Would  I  with  thee,  O  my  protector,  fare! 

Know'st  thou  the  hill,  its  path  in  clouds  and  gray? 
The  mule  he  seeks  through  mountain  mist  his  way; 
In  caverns  dwell  the  dragons'  ancient  broods; 
Down  plunge  the  cliffs,  and  over  them  the  floods. 
Know'st  thou  it  well?  — 

O  there,  O  there 
Lies  our  own  way.     O  father,  let  us  fare! 


[188] 


XL    Midway  Upon  the  Road 


Midway  Upon  the  Road 

MIDWAY  upon  the  road,  encountering  Death 
(Unseen  before,  or  seen  so  far  aside) 
Death,  the  revealer  and  the  proof  of  Life  — 
And,  though  hereafter  I  may  cross  new  streams, 
And  voyage  unto  new  isles,  and  see  new  towers, 
And  hear  new  voices,  not  for  aught  of  this 
Shall  I  be  other  than  I  was.     The  man 
Encountering  Death  midway  upon  the  road, 
When  he  is  statured  equal  to  the  trial, 
Shall  walk  thereafter  other  than  before  — 
Not  sorrowing  forever,  but  resolved 
To  realize  the  purport  of  himself, 
Subduing  haste  and  passion,  serving  men 
With  nobler  thought  and  action  in  the  day, 
And  sleeping  night  by  night  a  goodly  sleep, 
Tented  with  quiet  memories  of  his  dead. 


[191] 


For  the  New  Year 

"AY  you  have  good  in  the  Four  Seasons : 


M 


In  Winter,  may  you  read  beautiful  books,  watch 
the  fire  leap  and  crackle  in  the  grate,  and 
see  through  the  window  the  full  moon  on 
the  drift  and  trees; 

In  Spring,  may  there  be  children  at  the  table, 
and  through  the  open  door  sight  of  blossom 
ing  shrubs  and  sound  of  singing  birds; 

In  Summer,  may  there  come  to  you  friends  from 
over  mountain  and  sea,  and  may  you  find 
shady  groves  and  cool  springs  wherever  you 
walk; 

In  Autumn,  may  you  teach  others  gentleness  and 
courage  and  truth,  and  look  at  the  sunset 
from  quiet  hills. 


THE   END 


[192] 


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